Unseen Genius
by Kay Blue Eyes
Summary: A woman appears at the Opera determined to save the theater from the fiery fate she has seen in her dreams. But will her visions leave her at the mercy of the Opera Ghost or will she find an unexpected connection with an injured, masked man she finds deep
1. Prologue

**Hey all welcome to Unseen Genius! The story will be under mild construction for awhile but I will definitely keep the chapters up while I am working on them. So keep checking back for cool changes! (At the moment I have re-edited chapters 1-8)**

**But anyway this story follows the end of the musical fairly closely for about the first 5 chapters or so. (Just so you know.) After that I take up my own storyline. This is just to introduce important characters and to remind everyone as to what was going on. And hopefully you all will enjoy it.**

**I don't mind criticisms as long as they are constructive. I am always open to suggestions! Please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately I do not own the characters of Phantom of the Opera. Though I wish I did. ^_^ But I do own all of the original characters and the storyline so please don't use them without asking first.**

Prologue:

It was late evening in the heart of the city. The sun had long since hidden itself behind the sprawling skyline, fleeing the choking smoke lingering in the sky for one more short night. A thick, grim fog crawled its way up and out of the Seine, creeping slowly through the streets and blanketing the cobblestones with a slick sheen of wetness. Dark shadows of darkly dressed people scuttled between the circles of light cast out into the night by the street lamps, going about their business with a desperate efficiency of the poor.

Nestled amongst the crumbling, unpainted buildings of the quarter bright beacons of light glimmered out from the tattered and garish tents of a small gypsy fair. On first glance the warmth of the light shining through the colorful tent walls gave an impression of welcome and good cheer; but after a moment's observation the polished sheen crumbled. The clustering of painted carts and ornate tents showed obvious signs of wear; the paint faded with age and the thick waterproof cloth of the tents torn and ratty. The savory scent of cooking meat roasting over bonfires mingled with the deep, fetid stench of rotting garbage and churned mud.

Equally as stylish and ragged as their camp the Gypsy proprietors hovered at their respective stalls; their dark eyes scanning the crowd in a constant search for possible profit. But one man, and one particularly tattered yellow tent, stood out from the others. He was tall, standing a full six inches above the heads of his comrades. His wide, thin-lipped mouth was permanently pulled down at the corners from a lifetime of frowns and his eyes held not just the glittering search for gold of his companions but a razor-edged cruelty. Standing before his sadly crooked tent with his beefy arms crossed across his chest the man flashed a sneering smile of welcome to the passing crowds.

"Come in good people!" he bellowed. "Come in and see a terrifying spectacle! Something so unique, so unimaginable that it can be seen no where else in the world! A once in a lifetime chance!" Lowering his voice into a conspiratorial murmur he beckoned to a small group of teenaged girls. "Come ladies. Come see my Devil's child!"

The girls came to an uncertain stop, gazing at the wild gypsy with expressions of mingling intrigue and fear. Twittering amongst themselves they tried to peer around the hulking mass of the gypsy's body. Twirling the tip of the white ribbon in her hair one of the girls finally smiled and stepped forward. "Alright… I would like to see it!" she proclaimed boldly.

Sweeping forward, her toes pointing slightly outward with the characteristic step of a ballerina, the girl glanced over her shoulder at her companions. "Well?" she demanded, waiting for them to follow.

Slowly the other girls started forward, trailing after their leader with an air of apprehension. Lingering a moment longer outside, a young woman with beautiful auburn hair twisted the hem of her cloak between her fingers. Her eyes slid disapprovingly over the gypsy man and the tent before letting out a heavy sigh and stepping through the door flap. Blinking rapidly in the dim interior the girl maneuvered her way to near the front of the crowd.

A large iron barred cage squatted atop a platform in the middle of the space within the tent. The strong musty smell of wet straw permeated the interior; causing most of the girls to pinch their noses in disgust. Ignoring the smell with a determined expression the auburn haired girl turned to watch the gypsy man stride into the tent, a small riding crop clutched in his hand. Moving to the side of the cage the man fumbled with a rusty lock and then swung open a small door. Stepping into the cage the man bent forward and jabbed at an immobile lump on the floor with his crop. A soft moan issued from the prone form in the cage when the gypsy abandoned his prodding and gave the mound a vicious whack with the whip. The crowd sucked in a collective gasp when they realized that the form on the floor was some sort of person rather than an animal.

Her mouth open in surprised horror the auburn haired girl moved forward to wrap her hands around the bars of the cage. Gazing down she caught the burning glimmer of two eyes staring up at her from the darkness. Slowly the lump on the floor pushed itself into an upright position, revealing the form of a young boy of about thirteen years old. Balancing himself on a pair of spindle-thin arms the boy raised a grimy hand up to adjust the coarse sack covering his head so that the eye holes were centered over his face. Sighing heavily he surveyed the people surrounding the cage with a weary sort of acceptance, gripping a small gray toy monkey protectively near his side.

Almost as if on cue the gypsy man reached down and grabbed hold of the boy's crude mask. The boy gave a weak howl and struggled against his captor's grip then went completely limp. Whipping the boy again the man cackled darkly. "And now prepare yourselves for the frightful apparition of the Devil's Child!" the man announced as he jerked off the mask with a flourish.

The screams sliced through his mind like a burning bullet through flesh, leaving bloody and painful devastation in their wake. Though the crowd's reaction was expected, perhaps even understandable, the boy couldn't stop the quiver of dread from shivering through his body. Focusing his attention inward, as he often did when the outside world proved too horrible to bear, the young boy thought instead of a pleasant dream he had been having.

Envisioning the sheen of a silken bow, the ruffle of a blue cotton dress, a dimly recalled smile, he sorted through the limited memories of beauty he possessed; the same memories he had been dreaming of moments ago. He struggled for a moment to bring more of the dream into focus. The images that he knew had once been so clear to him now refused to form any further beyond vague impressions. Every day it seemed he lost more of his dreams and memory to the grim despair surrounding him; as it was, he could hardly remember a time before coming to the Gypsy's. Grieving the loss the boy gave up the struggle and settled for the images he could still project across his mind's eye. Becoming fully engrossed in fantasy he barely felt the sting of the gypsy's whip upon his shoulders.

Only when the man snatched the boy's one possession from his grasp did he finally open his eyes, coming back to reality with a leaden heart. The dream of ribbons and smiles evaporated as he glanced up at the leering expression of his captor.

"You little monster! Are you trying to ruin me? They all ran off because you forced me to beat you too much! Cooperate next time or I will throttle you to death!" Glancing down at the toy in his hand the gypsy slowly flashed a mean smile. "But then threats never seem to work on you. I think it is time to teach you a little real life lesson." Raising the toy monkey the gypsy wrapping his large hands around its head and began to twist, obviously intent on ripping the monkey to shreds.

A blinding rage boiled up inside of the boy's small body as he watched the gypsy work to tear the toy apart. Tendrils of red bled across his vision as he jumped to his feet, a small length of rope almost magically appearing in his hand. Baring his teeth, all conscious thought came to a sudden halt, burned away to the swirling red of his pent up rage.

When he finally came back to his senses he found himself standing over the dead body of his long time captor. Bending down he silently picked up his fallen toy and his crumpled mask. Replacing the mask the boy's heart began to race as he saw the rope around the gypsy's neck. He didn't regret the old man's death, in fact he gloried in the freedom he felt now coursing through his blood stream, but he dreaded being discovered and further punishment.

A small gasp from outside the cage snapped his head up. An auburn haired girl several years his senior stood outside the bars her eyes glued to the dead man at the boy's feet. Frozen in terror where he stood he waited for her to cry out and report his crime. When she rushed forward and offered her hand instead he didn't know what to do.

"Come with me quickly or they shall arrest you!" she whispered furtively as she grabbed his arm and pulled him out of his cage.

Running with the girl out of the back of the tent he heard the shout of discovery rising up behind him. They raced together through the streets of Paris until the boy's legs burned and his lungs felt close to collapse. Finally the girl slowed her pace and led him to the side of a towering building. Opening a grate she shoved him through into the cave like darkness beyond.

"Do not be afraid," she whispered. "These are the upper cellars of the Opera house. We keep old props here. You can stay as long as you need, but no one must know that you are here. No one can know I brought you here. You… You must be like a ghost or you will not be safe."

Glancing at his surroundings Erik reached out and ran his fingers delicately down the length of a bolt of discarded crimson silk. Sighing at the feel of the cloth he closed his eyes. Something inside of him that had long been broken shifted and seemingly fell into its rightful place. He felt as if he had finally found a place where he could belong.

"A ghost?" he repeated dreamily. "Yes… that will be fine."

Abruptly the looming walls and shadowed set pieces shivered and began to swirl drunkenly. Shattering into a million pieces the vision of darkness blew apart at the seams. Gasping for breath a young woman came awake with a jarring start, her eyes darting around her dimly light bedroom. Raising a shaky hand to her forehead she concentrated on slowing her racing heart as the memories of the dream flickered and then faded.

"Blast it. Not again…"


	2. A Word of Warning

Chapter 1: A Word of Warning

Paris 1881:

The clock ticked monotonously in the background as Brielle Donovan sat stoically in the manager's office of the Opera Populaire, her impassive expression effectively covering the impatience building within her chest. Dressed plainly in black, the high collar of her dress fitting snugly just under her chin, the young Irishwoman presented a sober picture, giving the impression of being far older than her twenty five years. A black velvet hat sat tilted fashionably to one side atop her head, purposefully covering the odd dove white hair which was pinned strictly into a bun at the nape of her neck. Topping off her unassuming attire was a pair of odd darkly tinted spectacles perched upon her nose, shielding her pale eyes from the sunlight streaming through a nearby window.

Brielle sighed and glanced at the wall clock. The managers, whom she had failed to secure an appointment with, had already kept her waiting for nearly an hour and despite her composed demeanor she was not a naturally patient woman. More accustomed to decisive action and quick results she was finding it increasingly hard to sit and do nothing, to wait.

_I should have gotten an appointment. It was foolish of me not to._ She thought, shifting anxiously in the large leather lined chair but finding it impossible to get comfortable as her whale bone corset dug into her ribs. 

Sighing again Brielle's carefully contrived mask of calm began to crack around the edges. She silently listed all the tasks that waited for her at home as a way to pass the time, but the exercise only served to aggravate her further. _First, I must clean my blasted desk. It is nearly akin to a natural disaster now. Then, of course, I must tidy up the barn and hang out the wash. Lord, there doesn't seem enough hours in the day. Ach, don't even think about it! _

The very thought of the domestic chores awaiting her sent a shiver of dread creeping up her spine. It was no secret that she was hopeless when it came to housework, and though she worked hard to improve herself she knew she would never find the contentment in the kitchen that so defined the feminine sex. More irritated now than she had been before; Brielle slowly began to tap her fingernails upon the chair's arm, adding a new rhythm to the beating of the second hand within the clock's face.

_What am I even doing here? _she wondered, a moment of anxiety wrinkling the pearl white skin of her forehead. _This is folly to be sure. _

She sighed again, her cloud gray eyes shifting to the clock for the hundredth time, noting that another five minutes had passed. Brielle's heart shaped lips quickly began to thin in irritation as she stewed, her impatience chilling into anger, freezing her eyes into glittering shards of ice.

_Really though_,_ what should I have expected__? Of course I would have to wait an eternity in this dusty office.__ These theater people are known for being irresponsible, and impractical in general,_ she grumped silently trying to keep her mind on anything but the reason for her impromptu visit to the Opera house. Anger was far easier to deal with than the anxiety which was churning within her gut. _I should go… _

And yet, she remained in her seat because despite her natural reservations the white haired woman had come to the Opera that morning for the express purpose of speaking with the theater's managers. The trip was impulsive at best, made that morning from her home in the countryside surrounding Paris when she could no longer stand staying away. The information Brielle carried with her, she knew, was vitally important; she had told the manager's secretary as such upon her arrival. But, despite this she had been kept waiting in one of the manager's messy offices like a common street urchin. 

Spinning the golden wedding band about her left ring finger she silently argued with herself. _Surely it wouldn't matter if I just left. I could be mistaken, after all. This could all be just a waste of time. I could definitely have been mistaken… But… then again… what if I am not? _

Shaking her head in disgust over her own indecision Brielle finally stood, snatching up her handbag and her winter cloak quickly. With a flourish she swirled the cloak over her head and let it settle upon her shoulders. She moved towards the door pinning the cloak in place as she walked, hardly watching where she was going as she momentarily struggled with the clasp. It was at that moment the office door swung open, nearly knocking her upside the head.

The person entering the room gasped slightly at the near miss and quickly grabbed hold of her elbow as she stumbled backwards.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle." The white haired man gushed hurriedly, giving her a quick harried smile before releasing her and turning to shut the door.

"Forgive my tardiness. There are many… issues which arise when managing an Opera. I am Monsieur Andre, one of the managers here." He stated as he moved to sit behind the large mahogany desk which overpowered the small room. His eyes, though strained by some unknown worry, quickly slid over her entire body, taking a quick inventory of the cut and style of her dress, before rising to her face. Satisfied that she was a lady of relatively good standing, he opened his mouth to speak but paused to stare, startled at the unusual hue of her hair.

Brielle merely nodded her head in acknowledgement of the apology and stiffly moved to reclaim her seat, purposely ignoring his blatant gawking. She was used to the stares. People just could not comprehend why such a young face should be crowned with the snow white hair more liken to an old woman's, nor could they ever get used to the pale fog color of her eyes. Her coloring always caused a certain level of confusion no matter where she went. She was an oddity, she accepted that and moved on, not being one to allow something so trivial as appearance to disrupt her daily life. There were more important things to worry about. Like trying to sort out exactly what she was going to say now that her escape route had been cut off.

Holding her handbag firmly in her lap, Brielle focused her eyes upon the floor, her mind racing as uncertainty took hold. Her classically proportioned features were set in a neutral, cool expression, though she was trying desperately to remember the speech she had practiced in the carriage ride to the Opera House. She had been able, she hoped, to construct a few sentences that imparted the information she knew without seeming like a complete lunatic; but now that she was faced with the task of actually repeating it aloud the words few straight out of her head.

"Monsieur Andre. My name is Brielle Donovan," she began cautiously, her French spoken with a charming Irish lilt.

He nodded, vague recognition of her family name flickering across his face. In his circle of acquaintances it was common to drop high brow names within every conversation. So it was not a surprise that he recognized the Donovan name as both rich and foreign. His tired, harried eyes now rose to fix strictly upon her face with fawning respect, his interest in her appearance piqued. Thoughtfully, Brielle raised her wide eyes to meet his. Knowing that she now had his attention restored a bit of her flagging confidence.

"I know my request to meet with you may seem rather odd, being on such short notice, but I must tell you something of great importance," she stated, hoping her tone did not betray how uncertain she was.

Andre stared at her for a moment in confusion, obviously trying to foresee the reasons she was about to reveal. The worry lines about his eyes stood out in stark relief as he studied her but he remained silent allowing her to continue. She cleared her throat and let out a calming breath. _I can't believe I am going to try and tell him this. God I'll be lucky if he doesn't call the authorities. I mean… it sounds crazy to me and I am the one who is saying it! But someone must warn him. I am just unfortunate that that someone has to be me. _

She straightened her shoulders and barreled on. "Monsieur I have come here to warn you. I have been led to believe that this opera is in great danger. A disaster is imminent. You must do something soon or people will be kille…"

As she rushed through her partially remembered speech, Andre's expression slowly began to sour. The polite façade he had been affecting earlier slid easily from his face and the dark circles under his eyes grew more pronounced as his features turned white in fury. Hurtling to his feet he was around the massive desk in seconds. The white haired man snatched one of Brielle's tiny wrists and jerked her to her feet without any hesitation.

"Who told you to say these things," Andre hissed glancing about the room, his eyes fretfully searching every shadowed corner. Giving her arm a good shake, he demanded her to answer him. "Who?"

Brielle stared up at him- her jaw sagging open- shocked into temporary speechlessness at his outburst. Not used to being treated with anything other than the proper respect assigned to her sex Brielle stiffened in his grip, two spots of crimson staining her pale cheeks. A moment of tense silence followed before her shock cooled into sharp indignation, then into anger. Fury flashed brightly in her eyes, turning them as hard and dark as river rocks, but her face settled into a mask of cold calm around them, all expression draining from her features as the Irish woman raised her massive defenses and prepared for battle. Slowly she reached up and pried his fingers from about her wrist, flinging his hand away.

"I came of my own accord monsieur. No one sent me to give you such disheartening news. And I take no pleasure in being here but I was compelled to come." She paused, glaring at him with an unladylike openness. "But I see that my warning must be redundant for it appears as if you are already experiencing some sort of disturbance, if your countenance is any indication. What has happened here to incite you to the brink of violence?"

Brielle couldn't help but notice the manager's already pale complexion draining completely of color at her inquiry. Andre crossed his arms defensively, completely ignoring her question. "Where did you come by this information," he asked, his anger fading into what appeared to be panic.

She had hoped to get through this little episode without him asking this particular question. Rubbing her wrist where he had gripped her moments ago, Brielle stalled. _Here it comes. He is going to think I am crazy. I really shouldn't have come…_

"Monsieur this will sound crazy, I am sure. I cannot tell you exactly how I know this but I must impress upon you that I simply _know_ that something horrible will happen here." When Andre only continued to stare at her she went on uncomfortably. "Occasionally… I have dreams that hint at things that have yet to happen." Cringing internally at how preposterous her words sounded even to her own ears Brielle waited for Andre to react to her revelation.

The manager let out a hissed breath and adjusted his coat before speaking. The panic her words had initially instilled in him was receding quickly, replaced with what could only be described as relieved amusement. "Oh? And when did you have this dream?" he asked.

Slightly startled by his rather calm reply Brielle hesitated. "Uh… well dreams actually. Over the last week or so I have been having…"

Nodding his head as if he were listening intently Andre interrupted. "And what have you dreamed about exactly? What dark fate awaits us?"

Feeling a blush rise up to stain her cheeks Brielle shook her head. "I cannot remember many specifics usually upon awakening but I…"

"Madame…" he sighed, a patronizing note sliding easily into his voice. "Enough of these games. You cannot give details because this story is just a figment of your imagination." Pausing here Andre fastidiously adjusted his jacket.

"Monsieur, I swear I am not lying to you. My concerns are real!" Brielle argued even as the manager's disbelief speared through her pride.

Waving a hand for silence Andre continued as if she hadn't spoken. "I have respect for your family name, but it is obvious to me that your parents raised you with too loose a rein. I know some _middle_ class house wives dabble in such imaginary things. But I would have never expected it from a woman connected with the Donovan line. Does your husband know you are here?"

She tensed at his words, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "Monsieur I am not married. I am…"

Cutting her off Andre laughingly added. "Ahh….a pity, such a pretty girl like yourself is without a husband. No wonder you are given to flights of fancy."

The Irish woman's jaw visibly tightened and she went utterly still with fury at his ill mannered words. "My husband died four years ago Monsieur." She ground out through clenched teeth. "He was an officer in the army. A bullet claimed his life before his duty was complete. I am not married because I am a widow."

Andre paused at this, a moment of regret passing over his features before he regained what composure he had left. "I thank you for your concern, but the opera is quite safe, I assure you. Your…feeling was incorrect. We will soon rid ourselves of all the ghosts which haunt this place." He smiled at this last thought. "Your warning is not needed. Perhaps you can get together with your lady friends. I am sure they will appreciate your predictions."

Brielle gasped in outrage at his blatant dismissal but before she could mouth any protest he was ushering her out of the office, a firm hand pressed into the small of her back. Once out in the hall he gave her a quick nod of his head and turned away, slamming the office door in her face. She stood outside, her pale eyes sharp as steel.

"You don't know what you do Monsieur! You are mistaken to believe you are safe!" she shouted, her accent thickening with anger.

Blowing out a breath, Brielle listened to her last words hanging eerily in the cool air of the stone lined corridor. Turning from the door Brielle crossed her arms over her chest, a chill running up her spine. Andre's nervousness seemed to have affected her, for she suddenly had the distinct impression that she was being watched. Glancing up and down the silent hallway, she hesitated for a moment before slowly turning and making her way down the corridor to exit the opera.

"Not that I expected anything different," she murmured to herself. "Who in their right mind would believe that sort of story from some strange woman who wandered in off the streets? I certainly wouldn't…if I were in their shoes."

Taking a pair of winter gloves out of her hand bag Brielle worried her bottom lip between her teeth; a gnawing feeling of stark embarrassment temporarily making her forget why she had bothered to come in the first place. _I don't think he could have pushed me out any faster. Oh god…how humiliating._

At the door to the outside world she paused, looking over her shoulder at the massive marble stair cases of the main entrance hall. Her gaze moved slowly across the shadows lining the deserted room as all the worry and uncertainty she had experienced the last few days swamped her senses. The same feeling of dread which had been plaguing her dreams rose up in her throat, nearly stealing her breath away. Her eyes softened, loosing the cold edge of anger as anxiety took over, and her hands fisted at her sides in anticipation of an impending horror.

"Fools…" She breathed. "Soon their world will fall down upon their heads and they don't even know it yet."

Biting her bottom lip, Brielle turned away from the opulence of the opera house and stepped out into the sunlight of a cold winter's day, knowing she could do nothing else to convince others of what she knew. Pushing her tinted spectacles farther up her nose she hurried out into the chilled air and climbed quickly into a plain black coach waiting for her at the curb.

A man cloaked in shadows watched Brielle's black clad figure disappear out the doors and into the winter's day. He had been listening in on the interesting little interlude which had passed between his moronic manager and that strange girl.

_So they think to be rid of me soon?_ he thought, as a feral sneer peeled his lips back to reveal a row of perfectly straight, white teeth. _How absurd…_

The man's startling blue eyes glittered with a frightening intensity as he glared at nothing in particular, lost in the whirling chaos of his own thoughts. Soon his plan to finally claim what by rights was already his would be put into action. The opening night for Don Juan, his opera, was set for the end of the week. _They think they are so clever. Trying to trick the trickster. But I know their game. _

His sneer grew, distorting the left side of his face into a grotesque expression of borderline madness, the other half of the twisted grimace remaining hidden behind the smooth white mask covering half of his face. The effect of emotionless white leather side by side with such black fury was disquieting, only highlighting the instability and desperation of the man behind the mask.

Raising a hand to adjust his mask in a gesture so practiced as to be nearly unconscious, the mysterious man continued to stare unseeingly out the Opera's main entrance. He took a long slow breath in a fleeting attempt to bring his racing thoughts under control.

His sneer faltered, and his expression took on the hallow-eyed look of a man intimately acquainted with despair. For a moment his mind calmed and his rage receded, leaving a great gaping chasm of sorrow and regret free to open up all around him. The keen stab of love rejected tore through him then and the chasm opened wider, threatening to swallow him completely in darkness. _She does not want me. Perhaps she never did. I have loved her all this time but… but she does not want me. _

Grimacing as the pain of it became a living thing inside of him the man shied away from calm and reason, embracing once again the protective fire of his all-consuming fury. As the man's mind skittered around the broken pieces of his heart he focused on the strange woman's words of just a moment ago. Repeating the words over and over so that he didn't have to think about anything else, clearing his mind so that her words and her words alone echoed endlessly within his skull. _"Soon their world will fall down upon their heads."_

_Fall down around their heads… around their heads… Yes… Yes that can be arranged. _And as he mouthed the words silently, a terrible idea filled his fevered mind.

He glanced upward towards where the fantastic chandelier hung in the next room, the pained grimace morphing into a dark smile. With the final step of his plan taking shape within his mind, he turned on his heel and stalked off down a side hallway. And with a flourish of his finely tailored black cape, the Phantom of the Opera disappeared into the shadows.


	3. 2: The Hidden Threat

Chapter 2: The Hidden Threat

It was only three days until the Opera House gave its production of the newly created Don Juan and the normal pre-performance chaos was only magnified by the mysterious nature of the play's birth. A desperate sort of tension thrummed through every practice, setting the performers on edge, their eyes constantly flickering up to the darkness above them. No one, from the burliest stage hand to the most cynical cleaning lady dared to venture out of their rooms alone. They lived as if under siege by an unknown and invisible force.

And now half of the performers working within the theater had been at the masquerade when the Phantom had delivered his play while brandishing a sword. They had the singular misfortune to know that there was far more to fear than just shadow and air within the Opera's walls; between the flickering gas lamps something more substantial than a ghost held sway, it was the man with the mask that stalked their nightmares now.

The strangeness of the play itself did nothing to soothe the player's fear, but rather only served to heighten it. Filled with overt sexual tensions and frustrations the work blatantly disrupted the sensibilities of all involved, and yet, it had the power to instill a breathless sense of wonder in even the staunchest, most guarded heart. That the Ghost himself had written Don Juan and had demanded very specific casting for his creation was the final spark which set off every gossip mill within the Opera like a powder keg.

It was now common knowledge that Christine would once again take the lead Soprano's part, as stated by the directions on the first page of the play's score, a fact which had many wagging their tongues. That Christine had been kidnapped by the Phantom earlier that year had long since been a staple rumor amongst the cleaning staff. Several moderately reliable witnesses said she had been missing for an entire night and half the next day. Her disappearance all the more amazing since her dressing room door had been locked from the outside at the time her disappearance had been discovered. How the girl had managed to escape through solid oak and stone could not be explained except that the Ghost must have spirited her off. Based on this strange set of circumstances, and also by Christine's preferential treatment in general, many were beginning to think the young diva was in league with the mysterious man who was actively tormenting the Opera.

But those who actually knew Mademoiselle Daae scoffed at these half formed accusations, of course. They knew Carlotta was more likely to learn to act in the next three days than Christine was to purposely harm anyone. The girl was too young, too quiet a creature for such vicious rumors to be true. Her heart was an open book, people said; easily read and written upon, and definitely not the sort to form any sort of nefarious alliance with a madman. Christine's supporters were open about their opinions, unlike those who gossiped about her, and so it was not difficult for interested parties to gather information about the young singer and her recent misfortunes.

"Do you _actually _believe a ghost has not only kidnapped one of your performers but has written an Opera as well?" Brielle asked a little sarcastically.

There was a long weighted pause in which the Irishwoman glanced between the two chorus girls she had run across. When they nodded enthusiastically the young woman rolled her large grey eyes to the rafters. _This is driving me mad. How can anyone believe such malarkey? It completely defies logic. _

Having returned to the Opera with great trepidation Brielle now wandered the maze like backstage, trying to find a clue, any clue, as to what her dreams could be telling her. She had found upon returning home a few days ago that despite the humiliation of her meeting with Andre she simply couldn't stay away from the opera with a clear conscience, knowing the managers were leading the entire theater into danger.

Slowly she continued, "And you will be performing this play in three days?" Once again the two girls nodded, their smiles slowly fading.

"Yes Madame, we must perform it. The new managers were mistaken to challenge him. Here he has eyes everywhere. No one is safe when the Ghost is on the prowl," the tiny blonde chorus girl whispered as her eyes danced nervously up to the rafters.

Brielle raised a cool eyebrow as she followed the younger girl's gaze up into the darkness looming above them. Only silence met their inquiring eyes. Fisting her hands upon her hips Brielle shook her head at the frightened girls standing nervously before her. She felt obligated to enlighten them upon the foolishness of their theater's gossip.

"Listen to me carefully," she began, her voice firm.

"There are no such things as ghosts. They are merely figments of the imagination or the shadows of some poor soul's grief. Science has been able to prove many remarkable things; the existence of microscopic life forms, evolution, the age of the Earth itself and yet no scientist has ever found evidence that ghosts, or spirits of any form, exist. Obviously, the proper and logical conclusion based upon these facts is that there are no such things as ghosts."

The two girls stared at her open mouthed, in awe of her commanding presence; unable to form any response. No one had spoken so openly of such things since the legend of the Ghost had begun.

"Therefore it is safe to say that your Opera Ghost must be something else entirely. Most likely what you all fear is simply an escaped lunatic…" A loud crash behind the three women cut Brielle off short. The two chorus girls screeched shrilly before plunging down the dim backstage hallway; leaving Brielle alone.

The twenty five year old whirled at the ruckus her hands raised to defend herself. A few strands of snowy hair escaped their pins, falling about her face as she stood ready for some sort of attack. Her heart slammed within her chest she searched the nearby area, the chorus girls' fear rubbing off on her, causing her to nearly come out of her skin at every shadow. Suddenly the culprit behind the noise stepped out into the light, and meowed. Brielle sagged in relief when a fat tabby cat trotted over to her and rubbed up against her black skirt. She bent down and picked the feline up, scratching his ears.

"You naughty boy, knocking things over and terrorizing the chorus." A small smile graced her characteristically stoic features as she stroked the cat, waiting for her startled heart to settle. "Perhaps you are the real Phantom of the Opera. Yes? I don't think half of the ninnies here would know the difference. And you certainly gave me a fright despite my brave speech." The cat merely stared at her with large golden eyes, the joke lost on him.

She sighed and released the tabby, remembering her reason for returning to the Opera. _I must discover what is causing this horrible feeling clouding my mind. It is getting worse every day. I can hardly think of anything else. The dreams are becoming unbearable. _Her growing worry showed itself in the tired line around her eyes as she walked wearily down the hall; the chubby cat following closely upon her heels.

She had hoped her earlier intervention would have appeased the nagging of her conscience. Sometimes merely giving a warning was enough to dissipate her odd feelings. Unfortunately this time things were not following the familiar pattern as they should have. Despite her meeting with Monsieur Andre, and the warning she had given him, the last few nights she had been plagued with dreams too horrific to remember in the morning. Hours before dawn Brielle awoke clammy with sweat, a scream rising in her throat. And she didn't know why. She hated not knowing why.

As the days had passed the dreams had become clearer, if only slightly. She could now remember the red velvet of the theater's seats within the Opera and the heat of a terrible fire falling from above. But it was the screaming of hundreds of panicked people that chilled her straight down to her bones. Beyond these few details, Brielle was still in the dark as to what lay in the Opera's future. It was the dreams more than anything else that drove her once again to stand warily inside the Opera Populaire. The dreams were driving her absolutely mad.

Earlier that morning, after waking from the latest nightmare, she had set about forming a plan on how she would gain entrance into the Opera. Based on her first and last meeting with the management she was certain that she would be thrown out of the theater on sight. But she needn't have concerned herself for it had been shockingly simple to gain entrance, she merely walked through the doors. Expecting to be stopped at any moment when she wandered backstage Brielle was surprised to find that no one even gave her a second glance. In fact there really wasn't anyone around who could have stopped her. The unending hallways and corridors were all but deserted, echoing and shadowed they veered off in every direction in a seemingly random fashion.

Now, as Brielle gazed about at the strange assortment of taxidermy animals set among a forest of ten foot tall Greek columns on either side of her she could feel an empty tension permeating the very air. _Lord,_ _those girls' story must be getting to me…all of a sudden I feel a little nervous. This place seems so strange without people milling about. Most of the cast must be keeping to their rooms. They are all afraid of this ghost of theirs. Poor things…_

Pulling her shaded spectacles from her breast pocket, Brielle stepped into a better lit area behind the stage; relieved to be free of the looming presence of the discarded props. From what she had gathered so far this hallway held the dressing rooms of the lead performers. _I suppose the Christine everyone is whispering about lives here somewhere. With all the talk about ghosts and kidnapping…I would have to stand in line to be the lead lunatic here. _The thought made her laugh softly to herself. But one hand rose immediately to hover over her mouth, muffling the soft sound.

Her laugh quickly turned to a gasp when the door at the end of the hallway was flung open, slamming violently against the wall. The crack of wood against wood echoed jarringly down the silent hallway, making Brielle jump slightly. A young girl, her wild brunette curls loose about her shoulders, backed slowly out of the doorway. It was obvious, even from a distance, that the poor thing was on the verge of breaking down completely.

"How can I betray him Raoul?" The girl sobbed to the person standing just out of sight within the room.

"He led me through the worst years of my life, gave me his music when I was dying in silence!" Her voice rose, dangerously close to hysteria as she backed further out of the room. The light from the doorway, limning her tear stained face.

"I can't do this! I can't end it like this! Please, please don't ask this of me Raoul." The girl covered her face in agony as she gave herself over to violent weeping. Turning, with her hands still over her eyes, the girl ran down the hall, nearly colliding with Brielle before disappearing around a corner.

A handsome young man, his smooth blonde hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck, dashed out the door with a shout. "Christine! This is the only way! Christine!"

The man let his shout die with a frustrated growl, his young blue eyes flashing with confliction and worry. He stared after Christine for a moment before realizing he wasn't alone in the hallway. With a start he noticed Brielle standing a short distance from him. Straightening suddenly he cleared his throat, trying vainly to gather some composure in front of the stranger.

Brielle twirled the plain gold band of her wedding ring about her finger, feeling slightly nervous under the young man's gaze, feeling as if she had inadvertently stumbled upon a scene so personal it should not have been witnessed by a stranger. Her earlier laughter had completely disappeared from her features leaving behind the guarded mask she normally wore.

"Forgive me. It was not my intention to intrude upon your…er..conversation." she said, her lyrical accent naturally softening her words.

Raoul shook his head as kindly as he could. "Do not apologize...Madame," he said after noticing the simple gold ring upon her left ring finger. "If anything we intruded upon you." His gaze left her and shifted down the hallway to where Christine had disappeared. Straightening his waistcoat, he stepped forward to follow after his childhood sweetheart.

As he was passing her, Brielle felt a cold chill pass over her heart and she found herself reaching out to grab his coat sleeve, driven to the action by some unknown force. He turned towards her, exasperation breaking through his naturally genteel manners, but her sincere, wide-eyed expression swiftly quelled his growing annoyance.

"Please Monsieur. Whatever may happen in the next three days. Do not allow yourself to forget to be compassionate." She blurted.

"It is important, even in the darkness where no one else is watching, that you remain merciful." She finished with a shudder. The strangeness of the words pouring out of her mouth caused a blush to quickly infuse her cheeks. She hurriedly released him brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. _Where did that come from? I don't even know this man!_

Raoul stared at her for a moment in confusion before a level of wary understanding slid over his face. His strong jaw tightened and his eyes hardened as he looked away from her face and down the hallway towards Christine's door.

"Unfortunately, Madame some situations call for one to forget their compassion. Such delicate displays are lost upon those who have already sold their soul to Satan. I will not be weak before such a person, not when he has caused so much pain." His gentle voice had lowered to dangerous levels, even as his eyes betrayed him with a flicker of sadness.

Brielle, her expression shifting slightly to reveal her surprise, opened her mouth to offer a retort but Raoul shook his head and stepped backwards. "Forgive me Madame but I must excuse myself. There are still things to be done." He turned and briskly set off to find Christine.

He paused halfway down the hallway and turned back towards her. "Take my advice Madame; leave this accursed place before it infects _your_ life as well." And with that he took his leave.

Once she was alone Brielle let out an unladylike string of curses under her breath, many of which her brother Conner had taught her long ago. Having vented her frustration she smoothed a hand down her black velvet skirt and composed herself. Pressing her lips together she relaxed her features.

"This entire situation is a fiasco!" she muttered into the empty hallway.

Accustomed to talking to herself when she couldn't figure out a problem, Brielle gave into the habit while trying to puzzle through her current situation. "My warnings fall upon deaf ears. Though I can't blame them - _I_ don't even know what I am warning them of. This Opera Ghost has them all terrified. I can't believe so many adults have faith in such a ridiculous story. I thank my lucky stars I wasn't born with such gullibility!"

She sighed and began walking towards where she remembered the stage to be. As she approached her destination, the rise and fall of a multitude of voices slowly grew louder. Brielle paused just off stage left, strangely captivated by the sounds emanating from the mouths of those practicing upon the stage, her annoyance quickly draining away. Sagging against a nearby wall she felt her worries drift away on the almost magical waves of sound washing over her. _Funny…_ she thought absently. _I never thought that I liked Opera before._

The rich vibrations of the baritones and altos underscored the soaring heights reached by the sopranos, every note blending to perfection in a complex melody that even Brielle, who had no musical talent, could tell was genius. She raised a hand to rest over her heart as her eyes involuntarily drifted shut. She had never had such a strong reaction to any form of music before. It was almost as if the notes carried within them the essence of every human emotion.

Brielle found herself nearly overwhelmed for a moment until an odd noise reached her ears over the music. A soft fluttering sound accompanied by the harsh creaking of old ropes came from just over her head in the darkness of the rafters. Wondering at the odd sound her pale gray eyes fluttered open and she tilted her head upwards. She frowned and removed her shaded spectacles, trying to see into the darkness looming above her. A small object was fluttering down from the shadows, and as it dropped to her feet, she was startled to realize that it was an envelope.

Automatically bending down to pick up the letter, she flipped it over and frowned at the red wax skull seal. _How odd. This place continuously reveals new variations of strangeness._ Brielle glanced upwards once more before she opened the letter, her natural curiosity taking over. Her frown deepened, then suddenly froze as she read the words.

_Dear Madame Donovan,_

_Your visits to my Opera have grown increasingly entertaining. First, the little interlude with my moronic manager, and now gossip mongering among the wretched chorus girls. I find it rather odd that a woman of standing should display such common_ _behavior. I find it extremely unladylike, Madame, that you have been poking your nose in where it does not belong. _

_By now, I am sure, you are beginning to realize your efforts are in vain. Logic and science hold no sway behind these curtains. Try as you might, you will not disturb the plans which have already been set into motion. _

_It is best you take your leave immediately. _

_O.G._

_P.S. Be cautious Madame. The Opera is known for its accidents._

The language within the letter revealed the intelligence of the writer and yet the words themselves were written in a strangely simplistic style. Almost as if the author had had no formal penmanship training.

A hidden threat loomed beyond the polite grammar of every word. It was that subtle threat which sent a shiver of anger up Brielle's spine. Nothing could incite her wrath quiet like bullying could. Having been the recipient of harassment as a child, given her particular coloring, Brielle was well acquainted with just how horrible bullies could make others feel.

Slowly Brielle crushed the letter in a white knuckled fist turning her gaze upwards. Searching the darkness with ice cold eyes, she stepped away from the stage and into the shadows cast by old sets and props.

"You mistake me sir!" she called up into the darkness, her words biting and her accent thickening.

"I am not a simple minded fool like those you are accustomed to. Childish threats and mysterious letters mean _nothing_ to me!" Brielle tossed the letter upon the floor. "I will not be bullied! And allow me to make it plain, sir; if you in anyway attempt to harm anyone within this theater, I will thrash you myself!"

She turned sharply then, her skirts swirling about her ankles, and began to stalk towards the main entrance of the Opera. She had learned enough for that day. Brielle knew that entangled within the rumors surrounding the Phantom a string of truth could be found. Somewhere within the stories was a clue as to why the Opera was in such danger. All she needed to do now was put the clues together. _After speaking with everyone, I know something horrible is going to happen when Don Juan is performed. I can feel it. Everything is somehow tied together. _

With her head held stubbornly high, Brielle swept out through the theater and into the grand reception area. Donning her shaded spectacles once more, she tore open the main doors and stormed out of the opera house.

A pair of shadowed eyes watched the young woman's exit intently, for a moment loosing their glint of betrayed fury. Amusement rather than malice lit the Phantom's gaze for several moments, softening his taut features until handsome lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. He was not accustomed to being the object of such sharp language._ And from a woman…She actually threatened to throttle me with her bare hands, how utterly laughable._

Just then a sour note sounded upon the stage diverting his eyes from his silent musings. The dark haired man visibly winced at the sound; his amusement disappearing like a puff of smoke. Quickly the calculation and violence returned to his gaze. As he casually swung himself higher into the rafters by a single rope, his thoughts turned once again to the strange girl's interference; this time with anger.

"We will see, Madame, how brave you are. Oh yes, we will see."


	4. No Alternative

Chapter 3: No Alternative

As the distant winter sun sank slowly behind the Parisian skyline, a line of finely appointed carriages began to gather in front of the Opera Populaire's main entrance. Elegant men and elaborately dressed women slowly emerged from their coaches and made their way up the front stairs of the building, taking the time despite the frosty chill in the air, to openly glance about at their peers.

The Opera twinkled to life in the gathering gloom, every window of the ten storied building blazing with light, welcoming the approaching patrons. Few dallied long enough to admire the sheer genius of the building itself; winter's cold and disinterest driving all those arriving into the main foyer. Had they paused for a moment, the dramatic baroque style awnings and massive marble statues which they passed would have rendered any sound minded person speechless. But, of course, no one cared to pause, for inside the theater's walls was an altogether different kind of drama waiting to be played out.

It was common knowledge that Parisian high society was notoriously serious about the arts. At least they seemed to be, for any wealthy aristocrat, who was worth mentioning, made it a point not to miss a single opening performance. Many, in fact, had clamored and fought over the limited number of box seats within the two thousand seat theater, craving the exposure such a position provided. In reality none of the Parisian rich cared much for the talent of the singers or the genius of the composer, rather the Opera served as a showcase for the latest styles and prettiest blue blooded women. It was a place to see and be seen.

As they strutted up the front stairs to the entrance, the women eyed each other with calculation, mentally tallying the cut and finery of their social peers; tucking away every bit of information gathered to later recount the juiciest tidbits in the gossip mill. Vicious whispers flew back and forth among the throng as each new carriage arrived. Jealousy and petty disputes ran high between those with the most expensive gowns and jewels all the way down to those who arrived on foot in their Sunday best.

"My Lord, what is that little snipe wearing? Can you believe that, if her bodice were cut any lower Satan himself would be able to peer down it," one young noblewoman whispered cruelly behind the cover of her lace fan to her companion.

The woman she was talking to laughed and shook her head to make the diamonds at her ears sparkle. "Indeed! But I do believe your husband is enjoying the view as well."

At her comment the first woman's malicious grin collapsed into a pinched scowl. Closing her fan with a snap, she marched over to a short balding man and jerked him away from the voluptuous redhead he was talking to. Man and wife swept through the open front doors, subtly rebuking each other between clamped teeth and a fluttering fan.

The men in the crowd proved to be no better than their female companions, though their tactics of examining their peers were far less obvious. Rather than twitter to each other about clothing, they instead blatantly eyed the women or the breeding of the carriage horses. The men with the best show pieces upon their arms or before their coach were both heatedly envied and grudgingly respected. For them status was just another competition to be won and the Opera house served as the perfect battle ground.

For this reason, few of the snobbery which had appeared for that night's performance cared in the least about the new work, its unknown author, or the strange rumors surrounding the Opera. Sensationalized through the Parisian newspapers the stories of odd accidents and kidnapped sopranos only added to the thrill of the moment; and the existence of a ghost merely made for interesting small talk before the show began.

As the shadows lengthened, a simple black carriage pulled up in front of the Opera getting lost among the brightly painted coaches already in line. Without waiting until the carriage had advanced to the proper location, directly in front of the main doors, a distinctly good looking man in his early thirties stepped nimbly from the coach; his boots hitting the stone street with a loud, undignified clapping sound. As he turned to assist the young lady accompanying him, his shoulder length auburn hair flashed red in the last rays of the dying sun light. Many of the young ladies present, shocked by the impatience of his arrival, turned to stare; it did not take long for their disapproving frowns to transform into appreciative glances.

Though the new arrival dressed like a Gentleman he was built like a common day laborer. He was tall and broad shouldered, his chest and back seemingly stretching on forever, the cut of his evening jacket unable to decently hide the movement of well-defined muscles beneath. His jawline was square and strong, his nose slightly crooked, both of which would have given his face a rather severe temperament if not for the perpetual smile curving the corners of his mouth and dancing in his vivid green eyes. But it was his manner more than anything that drew attention. There was an animation and vibrancy to his every movement and expression that set him worlds apart from the jaded, and pudgy noblemen walking into the theater all around him.

The young woman he carefully assisted to the ground was, likewise, striking enough to turn more than just a few heads. Piles of snow white hair crowned a coolly beautiful face, her features as perfectly proportioned as a classical Greek sculpture. Her nose was straight and rather regal looking while her cheeks and chin were softly rounded, imbuing her features with gentleness that her serious expression could not hide. Her wide Cupid's bow lips were unsmiling and tense at the corners. While her companion was dynamic and changeable she was the embodiment of quietness and stillness; her every movement as graceful as snow falling on a winter's night.

She paused to survey the gathered crowd with large luminous eyes the exact color of a storm washed sea. Looking away from the crowd she took a deep breath before shaking out her gray silk skirts and taking her escort's arm. The man smiled at her touch, the green of his eyes lighting up with laughter, but the young lady's face remained impassive save for a slight wrinkle between her brows as she once again eyed the crowd before her. Without missing a beat the man reached across her and relieved her of the unusually large black handbag she was carrying.

The handsome couple stepped away from the carriage and strolled casually towards the Opera's entrance. Raising a hand the white haired woman absently adjusted the plain silver pendant about her neck as she looked up at the Opera's design with appreciative eyes. Several other women snickered at the girl's lack of precious gems and the way she gawked up at the Opera house like a peasant. They also noticed with amusement the girl's charming attempt to wear an old fashioned powered wig; what gall to wear white hair in such modern times. New money was always entertaining. It made them all wonder what the incredibly charming man was doing at her side.

"Brielle relax," the man said warmly, leaning in so no one else could hear. "This was your idea after all." She looked over at him with a glare, the line of worry between her eyes deepening under his gaze.

Smiling at her the man continued. "I must confess I was rather shocked by your request. You always hated these frivolous displays of status. Though I have to say I was enormously happy to cash in a few favors to get these tickets. Nothing is more fun than corrupting my sister's intensely boring social life with just a bit of my social flare."

"Honestly Conner! This is serious. You know perfectly well why I came here tonight," Brielle exclaimed, gripping her brother's arm tightly when they sailed by a group of twittering ladies. Dipping her head Brielle studiously ignored the crawling feeling of judgmental eyes following her up the stairs.

Despite her composed exterior, Brielle had always been uncomfortable in large crowds. Growing up in rural Ireland, where superstition was a part of daily life, her odd coloring had always drawn unwanted attention. There had been rumors that she wasn't a human child at all but a changeling left by the Little People to cause mischief in the villages. And if that wasn't enough she had said many a strange thing to their neighbors, things that later on came true. Farming accidents, bad crops, untimely deaths haunted her dreams and sometimes spilled into her waking hours convincing everyone that she was truly Devil sent.

She had learned early on to never speak of the things she knew. But even her silence didn't prevent the village children from following her to and from the school house in packs of three or more, taunting with both words and occasionally small stones thrown. There had been no defense when outnumbered in such a way. And after she had come home with a gash above her right eye her father had packed up the family once and for all and taken them with him on his assignments permanently.

All of that had happened many years ago, the scar above her eye so small now as to barely be noticeable; and yet, even now crowds made her nervous. More than nervous really. As the number of people increased Brielle became exponentially more awkward and painfully shy. It was a visceral reaction that no amount of logic or self-discipline could seem to cure. At times, when the crush of the crowd grew unbearably intense, she felt almost as if she couldn't breathe, as if the walls of bodies were crushing the air right out of her lungs.

Ducking her head instinctively Brielle tried to avoid notice as they continued up the stairs; ignoring the familiar flutter of panic clutching at her heart and that incessant voice of self-doubt murmuring in her mind. _What am I doing here? I shouldn't have said anything. This was a mistake. They are dreams, nothing more. They are just dreams…_

Completely ignoring his sister's reprimand and grim expression Conner continued on as if she hadn't spoken. "I had hoped though that you would have worn a bit of color tonight. I cannot express to you how much I hate the colors black and gray. Would it be entirely too much to ask for just a bit of pink or maybe a nice blue? You always looked so pretty in blue Bri. Like a winter's day…"

He trailed off for a moment his eyes taking in the slightly dreary cut and color of her gown and his smile dimmed slightly. "It has been four years Bri. Don't you think it is time to move on?"

Without meeting her brother's gaze Brielle raised a hand to worry the Saint Jude medal about her neck. He was right, it had been four years since John had been killed; the accepted societal grieving period of a year had long since passed. She was no longer required to wear the black of her bereavement, it was considered acceptable for her to wear color and even marry again. More than acceptable really. As a young woman in her mid-twenties with a small child at home she was more like required to seek out a man to run her household. It just wasn't proper for her to struggle through life on her own.

But Brielle couldn't even bear the thought of such a thing. John had been the only man outside of her immediate family who didn't make her feel freakish or insane. He had been patient and kind, her safe harbor even when the dreams came in the night and she woke the house screaming. He had loved her despite everything. And Brielle intended to hold the loss of him close, despite how badly it hurt, rather than have his memories fade away. She didn't want to forget him and the way he used to make her feel. For her there would never be a proper time to move on and leave John behind. There was no end date for her grief and there never would be.

Grief whispered through her mind like an old friend and her eyes darkened with unshed tears. Unable to reply for a moment she merely shook her head weakly. The sadness replacing the panic and everything else as it so often did. "How can I? Oh Conner, I cannot," she murmured.

Panicked by the welling of misery he saw steal over her expression Conner grimaced. They walked in silence for a few moments as Conner floundered for anything to distract her from the melancholy that she never seemed to fully shake. "Er, did I tell you I had to blackmail a Cardinal in order to get our tickets tonight?"

Staring at her brother blankly for a moment Brielle didn't respond. Then slowly the spark in her eyes flickered back to life as incredulity overshadowed her sorrow. "What in the world do you mean?"

Relieved that he had been able to distract her momentarily Conner smiled widely. "It turns out that he often enjoyed giving the sacrament to the girls at Madame Florence's boarding house."

Blowing out a breath Brielle openly frowned at her brother. "I don't see anything wrong with that…"

Laughing Conner slung an arm around her slight shoulders. Leaning his mouth close to her ear he lowered his voice. "And it wouldn't have been a problem at all if everyone involved had kept all their clothes on."

Sucking in a scandalized breath Brielle turned and punched Conner in the arm, color instantly setting her cheeks on fire. "You…are…impossible!" she exclaimed, punctuating each word with another well aimed blow to Conner's midsection. "You should be ashamed of yourself. All the martyred Saints must weep the whole day long when they think on your immortal soul."

Ducking out of reach Conner continued to laugh. "I knew you would like that story."

"Be off with you, you silly heathen. I don't believe a word you are saying."

"Come now Bri, you know I only lie on Sundays."

Ignoring that Brielle tilted up her chin and swept up the Opera House's stair, leaving Conner behind. He hurried to keep up with her, coming alongside her though she continued to ignore him. Flicking a glance his way Brielle pursed her lips in aggravation.

"What I can't understand is why you insisted upon coming with me," she blurted suddenly. "I am perfectly capable on my own. I would have rather you stayed at home with Aria." After a weighted pause she slowed her imperious gait. Sighing, the irritation in her gaze faded and she turned worried eyes up to his face. "This is my problem, Conner."

"Oh it is your problem is it?" he asked arching an amused eyebrow, his green eyes dancing. "You forget how well I know you. Do you honestly think you would want to face this crowd alone?"

She opened her mouth in frustration but he cut her off. "And besides what sort of big brother would I be if I didn't look out for you?"

"One that actually pays attention," she muttered. "I told you I didn't know what would happen tonight. It could be anything. It could be, and most likely will be, nothing. You and Aria are the only family I have left Conner. If something happens to you because of my stupid hallucinations then I don't know what I would…"

At her words Conner's jovial smile disappeared, replaced with a fierce scowl. "Don't speak of yourself like that Bri. You are the smartest person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I trust your instincts. If you feel something is going to go wrong here, then it will. You have always known about certain things before they actually happen. That can't be explained away by hallucinations now can it? And I want to be here to help just as much as you do. Don't forget you are the only family _I _have as well!" he reminded her as they stepped through the main doors of the opera house and into the brightly lit interior.

Blinking rapidly as the light assaulted her sensitive eyes Brielle sighed guiltily. "I am sorry Conner. I wasn't thinking of how you felt." Nodding to acknowledge her apology he looked down at her, his forest green eyes softening.

"I _am_ glad you are here," she continued flashing him a rare brilliant smile as he squeezed her hand reassuringly. Leaning into his support Brielle felt the worry ease from her mind. If only for a moment.

Conner sighed and curiously gazed about their opulent surroundings. "One thing you have to credit the French with…," he began seriously.

"They are experts at pushing the limits of decency," he laughed as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively towards the risqué reliefs of nude female forms lining the grand staircases.

For a moment Brielle considered being appalled at her brother's continued indecency, but then she gave up on the idea. What was the point? He constantly pushed the boundaries of becoming a complete and total scoundrel. Besides it was really very funny.

Brielle raised a hand to her mouth to muffle the snicker which escaped her lips at his outrageous comment. Her brother was one of the few people who could break through the veil of grief that forever seemed to separate her from the rest of the world. He made her forget that she was different from everyone else, forget what she had found and lost. Being with him always made her feel young again. Reminding her of a time when they told each other ghost stories in the dark, and made faces at each other across the dinner table. Always reminding her of a time when they had all been happy; before her mother and father died, before she buried her husband and had to raise her daughter alone.

But as always was the case the laughter in her eyes fled leaving her expression somewhat hollow though she continued to smile. "And _you_ are an expert on decency? I believe it was you, dear brother, who ran drunk and naked over the Scottish moors after your 18th birthday party," she replied, hoping to embarrass him over the memory. But instead of showing any proper sign of shame, Conner tilted his head back and roared with laughter, the freckles splattered across his nose standing out sharply in the lamplight.

"I had forgotten about that Bri! Damn if that wasn't the best party I ever threw! Scottish whiskey is the best in the world."

Brielle rolled her expressive eyes skywards before pulling him up the grand staircase. "Come on. Let's get out of this crowd. I am tired of all these rich old biddies glaring at me."

Conner glanced around over the top of his sister's head his eyes hardening. _If it were just old rich dowagers staring at her I wouldn't be so worried. She doesn't even realize men never notice her hair. Her face distracts them too much, _he thought, baring his teeth for the briefest of moments at a leering French nobleman. The man started at Conner's ungentlemanly behavior before quickly turning away. Brielle continued on pulling her brother's arm, unaware of the exchange happening over her head; nor of the one currently playing out behind the theater's curtains.

Christine sat in front of the large mirror within her room vacantly staring at her pale reflection. The sleeve of her Spanish style peasant costume fell ignored off her creamy shoulder. As if in a trance the young girl was completely unaware of the activity happening all around her. Two young assistants were busily styling her long curls for the imminent performance, but she gave no sign of noticing their presence.

She merely stared into the mirror which now held so many memories, both good and bad. A single tear escaped her large brown eyes and trickled down her cheek. Raising a shaky hand she quickly wiped it away, standing as she did so. Taking a moment Christine sucked in several deep breaths, trying to stop the trembling that was taking over her entire body.

Tonight, she knew, she would destroy the man who had been her guardian and mentor for years. She would break his heart into a thousand pieces and in doing so, a part of her heart would break as well. The affection and respect she had once felt for her angel had shrunk away from the jealous and temperamental man she had come to know. His possessive and impulsive actions had frightened her more than the revelation of his face ever could have. But there was no other alternative that she could see. If she ever wanted to be happy she had to do as Raoul told her. And she desperately wanted to be happy. Happy with her beautiful and gentle Raoul.

Christine turned from the mirror in her room and walked numbly out into the hallway. The assistants followed upon her heels doing last minute touch-ups to her hair and costume before it was her cue to appear on the stage.

She wouldn't lie to herself and claim her Angel's face hadn't repulsed her. The shock of seeing his deformity had left her utterly speechless at the time; terrifying her down to the very depths of her soul. She had never in her life known that a human being could be so ugly, that the normal features of a face could be so distorted and foul. Even now, thinking upon it made her heart race and her stomach churn. What she had seen of the right side of his face had been a horrific contrast to the left. It was a cruel deception for the left half of his face was remarkably good looking. A strong jaw line, a straight aristocratic nose, and intense electric blue eyes all added together to create a picture of male perfection. _And yet the right side of his face_…

Just as she was beginning to drift off into her thoughts she spotted Raoul striding out from a side corridor, his face drawn. Christine stopped her musings at the sight of him and fell into his arms. The two young assistants scattered, leaving them alone.

"Raoul I am afraid," she sobbed as he shushed her and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"It will be alright Christine. After this night we can be together." She nodded against his shoulder before stepping reluctantly away from his embrace.

"I will be watching from the audience. There will be guards at every door. He won't be able to hurt anyone anymore." Raoul led her to just off stage right before giving her over to other members of the cast. He gave her one last encouraging glance before turning and hurrying to take his place in the audience.

Christine stood wringing her hands as the house lights dimmed and the footlights flashed brighter. The curtains rose revealing the chorus positioned amongst the hell inspired sets. Wooden flames and puffs of artificial smoke made the audience gasp in awe but when the chorus began to sing, all other sounds disappeared.

Piangi, the lead tenor, took his place on stage singing his piece with the lead baritone. The overweight singer soon disappeared behind a red curtain, signaling Christine's cue. As she stepped forward into the floodlights her trembling stopped and a dreamy expression overtook her anxious features. She was, after all, an extraordinary actress. _Heaven forgive me for what I now must do. _


	5. A Disaster Beyond Imagination

Chapter Four: A Disaster Beyond Imagination

Brielle shared a nervous look with her brother as the gas lights dimmed in the theater. _This is it. Please…please let me have been wrong this time. _

Slowly the curtains drew back revealing the wonderfully elaborate sets in place behind them. Two winding staircases framed the edges of the stage, towering over the cleverly placed flames so real that they almost seemed to flicker. After a brief pause the chorus members streamed out and took up their positions around a large circular hearth directly under the balcony supported by the two staircases. Soon the sound of a multitude of voices rose in perfect harmony, filling the silence of the theater. The audience settled back to watch the opera through gilded glasses.

The opening scenes quickly set up the overall story line without wasting a single note or line in the process. Brielle felt herself become easily engrossed in the story, pulled into the fast paced, emotional scenes despite the anxiety clouding her mind. She sat forwards in her seat, her eyes wide as she watched Don Juan disappear behind a red curtain; wondering what would happen to the poor girl he was scheming against.

The memory of her horrible dreams, and the disaster they promised, faded from her mind as she became increasingly more drawn into the drama playing out before her. Several times Brielle forcibly pulled herself out of the world playing out on stage, chiding herself that she was not here to watch the opera. Her reason for being here was far more serious and deserved her full attention. Turning her eyes from the stage Brielle looked about the theater, at the rapt gas lit faces of the audience, trying all the while to ignore the play. But each time the music slipped through her resolve like an assassin at night, cutting through her focus easily. She turned her eyes back to the stage as if led there by an invisible hand.

A young girl had stepped out onto the stage, her voice rising effortlessly to the farthest balconies. With a start Brielle recognized her as the girl she had seen backstage three days ago. _Christine…was her name I think. _She thought as an insidious finger of dread cut through the Irish woman's interest in the play. _I couldn't help but feel when she and that young man passed that they were somehow very important in what is going to happen tonight. But how…what is going to happen? _

Gripping the arms of her chair Brielle shot a quick anxious look around her, studying the rest of the audience, looking for some clue to explain her cryptic dreams to her. But nothing unusual presented itself. The audience was still sitting as if frozen in time, all eyes on the stage, the theater perfectly still except for the quick fluttering of a few ladies' fans. Conner turned his head slightly then and cut her an odd look. She must have made some small distressed sound for he continued to regard her as if she had suddenly sprouted hair upon her chin.

A new, darker melody began to weave itself into the fabric of the opera as Christine's angelic voice drew out into silence; French horns and drums slowly replacing the purity of the cello. Drawn by the threatening undertone emanating from the orchestra pit Brielle turned her worried eyes back to the action playing out upon the stage. Conner murmured something to her but all she could do was shake her head. Digging her fingers into the red velvet of the armrest Brielle's heart began thundering within her chest, leaving her breathless.

The red curtain that Don Juan had previously disappeared through was drawn back with a jerk just as the music suddenly changed gears. A pounding beat and a deeper, more violent string duet overcame the idealistic melody Christine had just sung.

Behind the now open curtain a tall man stood regally, his masked face tilted ever so slightly to the side as he stared intensely at Christine. His dark hair was smoothed back from his face, a face that was hidden by a black mask. His costume, a beautifully tailored black suite, emphasized the slimness of his waist and the long lean muscle of his arms and legs. One corner of his mouth drew up into a triumphant smirk as he stepped out onto the stage with the grace of a jungle cat. He flowed across the stage, his movements barely seeming to displace the air, his eyes glittering behind the mask and never leaving Christine.

There was something dreadfully wrong with the way he moved toward the young singer, the tilt of his head and his unwavering gaze, it as if her were stalking her, as if he would eat her alive if he ever were to reach her. Brielle had never seen anything like it in her life and she couldn't be quite certain that it was all acting. Sweat broke out across her forehead as she watched them. An awful choking dread rose up and grew like a tumor in the back her throat until she was sure she would suffocate from the terrible pressure. Her half remembered dreams began whispering of terror through her mind but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the stage.

When Christine turned her head to look back at the man her mouth dropped open in shock as she took several panicked steps backward. It was obvious that this man had somehow taken over for the overweight Piangi but Brielle thought it odd that Christine should allow such a thing to cause her to break character. In contrast the audience didn't seem to mind the change whatsoever, the ladies especially watching now with far more interest than before, but something in Brielle's stomach clenched.

She didn't know why, but the sight of the dark haired man pushed all her senses into hysterics, giving her a heightened sense of the things around her. The sound of the gas lamps hissing in the chandelier overhead, the brush of warm air against her cheek, but most of all every little detail about the man upon the stage, his odd way of moving, his wild eyed gaze, his tall slender build. Burning every little detail into her memory.

Even at a distance it was obvious that his presence was overwhelming; by merely standing there, he seemed to overpower all the other characters on the stage. When his eyes swept over the audience a fissure of energy sizzled up and down Brielle's spine, as if she had touched a live current. She pressed a hand to her stomach in an attempt to settle her odd reaction before anyone else noticed the flush rising up her throat. And still the dread built. _What is wrong with me?_

At that precise moment the enigmatic masked man opened his mouth and emitted the most glorious sound Brielle had ever heard. All thoughts crashed to a stop within her mind. The heaviness of anxiety weighing upon her shoulders melted away leaving her with a feeling of weightlessness. Never in her life had she felt so powerless, and never in her life could she have cared less. She could breathe again, her heart rate continued to speed but with bliss rather than fear. There was nothing to worry about. All she had to do from that moment on was listen, listen to his voice.

The flush Brielle had been trying to squelch began to burn her cheeks bright pink. She felt warm, hot even. His voice was a shadow of heaven itself. It reached into the soul, drawing emotion to the surface of even her carefully guarded heart. Brielle's eyes drifted shut against her will, her snow white eyelashes fluttering lightly against her burning cheeks. For the second time that week, she was physically overcome by the splendor and intensity of this bizarre opera.

The sudden scandalized gasps around her shook Brielle from her momentary intoxication. Opening her eyes dreamily she turned her head and caught the open-mouthed shock upon her brother's face. Looking back towards the stage she actually began to catch some of the words which were sending the audience into a dither.

Each and every phrase fairly dripped with overt sexuality. Shocked, Brielle raised a hand to press against her racing heart; never before had she heard such open innuendos played out in a public theater. The blush already upon her face quickly lit her cheeks an even brighter pink. Despite her natural embarrassment, she couldn't take her eyes away from the pair upon the stage. The way they moved together, the way Christine melted under his touch; it was magical. It was erotic.

And as Christine began to sing Brielle came crashing back to her senses. The dread rushed back over her, like a storm off the sea, black, terrifying, and cold. Brielle felt physical ill as the pressure about her throat began to grow, refusing to be quelled any longer, distracting her from the performance. She placed a trembling hand over her right temple, trying to clear away the fuzziness the music had created. A pounding between her temples began to beat in time with the opera as the minutes ticked by. Christine and the mysterious man were slowly climbing a set of stairs upon the stage. The sexual tension of the music was growing to unbearable levels, even as the pressure behind Brielle's eyes became intolerable.

Suddenly the world tilted upon its axis and Brielle slumped backwards in her seat, the pressure behind her eyes driving her into a near faint. Her head rolled backwards over the top of the chair. Brielle's large gray eyes stared straight up at the impressive chandelier overhead, her bodice heaving as she gasped for every breath.

Distantly she felt her brother's worried touch upon her arm. He was calling her name, she knew, but she could hardly hear him over the roaring within her mind. The images of her dreams violently flashed into stark clairity through the pain in her head, playing out behind her eyes over and over again. _The heat from a terrible fire falling from above…Oh God!_

A pleading gentle melody was now dominant upon the stage, but the music did nothing to quell the panic racing through Brielle's veins. The masked man was softly caressing Christine's face.

Throwing her brother's hands from her Brielle stumbled to her feet eyes still riveted upon the huge lantern above, the figures on the stage forgotten. Her mouth opened involuntarily and a terrible scream tore from her vocal chords at the precise moment Christine Daae ripped the mask from the enigmatic man's face. A ripple spread through the audience in reaction to both Brielle's shriek and the man's horrifying face.

Christine stood before him, her eyes wide with grief as she let his mask fall from her numb hands and clatter to the floor. Erik knew a foolish expression of disbelief must be plastered across his face; but unfortunately, at the moment, he couldn't seem to form a coherent thought let alone control his facial expression. A part of him had been secretly hoping Christine wouldn't actually commit to her part of the Vicomte's plan. That she wouldn't act the bait in his capture. This small part of him shriveled and died inside of him as he listened to his mask spin upon the floor at his feet.

The terrified scream from the audience shook the cobwebs from his mind. A mere second had ticked by since Christine had revealed his face to the entire theater, but for Erik an eternity had passed within that one moment.

"Erik…I…" She tried to speak further, but he didn't give her the chance to continue.

His face immediately transformed, gone was the hurt and surprise, both instantly vaporized by the white hot inferno of his fury. Blue eyes glimmering with violence Erik moved forwards with the speed of a viper striking. Grabbing hold of Christine's wrist, he jerked her roughly against his body, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a vicious sneer. She beat against his chest vainly as he wrapped a vise-like arm about her waist.

Erik turned his uncovered face towards the crowd, inwardly cringing from the shrieks of terror issuing from the front rows. His blazing eyes took in the armed guards rushing toward the stage as he listened to the multitude of voices crying out in horror at his devilish appearance. He could feel the hundreds of eyes fixed upon him, upon his face; shame like nothing he had ever felt before welled up within him, leaving him breathless from its intensity. All the anger and bitterness he had ever felt in his lifetime multiplied tenfold, protecting his breaking heart from the humiliation and hurt stealing his breath away. _How dare they! How dare they!_

One woman's voice rose higher than all the others, driven by stark terror rather than disgust. As he sought the source of the noise out in the crowd his eyes stumbled upon a semi-familiar woman with unusual white hair. His madly churning mind placed her as the young lady who had been snooping about the Opera a few days ago, the one who had amused him so much at the time.

_So she is here…She came like she said she would…_Oddly enough, Erik noticed that the strange girl wasn't even looking in his direction, her eyes instead were staring horrified upwards; reminding him of what was to come next.

Over the last three days Erik had debated whether or not to act out the final step in his plan. Even in his darkest moments it had seemed overly cruel to use such terror only for the purpose of distraction. Yet now, with so many staring at him in horror, all thoughts of kindness evaporated behind a curtain of shame and fury. _If they want to scream then I will give them a reason to._

Drawing a dagger, Erik quickly hacked a large rope just to his right. The coils of the cable shredded and unwound until finally it snapped in two. Up in the rafters of the theater dozens of pulleys whined threateningly as the rope shot upwards, snapping other supports with the force of its journey. Overhead, the chandelier gave an ominous groan as it jerked downwards several feet. The crowd below quickly forgot the deformed man onstage as all eyes turned upwards with a collective gasp.

Erik shot a triumphant smile towards where Raoul was jumping to his feet in one of the theater's boxes. The young Vicomte looked panic stricken but Erik, in his rage, couldn't see it. All he felt was the elation of the win. He had Christine and Raoul would soon have nothing.

Pulling a hidden lever Erik drew Christine closer, protecting her as a trap door opened beneath their feet. Gravity took over and they both plummeted downwards into the darkness below the stage. Christine's shocked shriek fading as the hidden panels slid back into place covering the entrance into the labyrinth below.

Christine pulled against her Angel's terrible grip as he dragged her farther into the bowels of the Opera. But all her struggles were in vain; they didn't even slow him down. She had been witness to his unearthly strength before, but never had she imagined she would have to fight against him, alone.

He was raging at her now - each curse and vile name punctuated with the violent waving of the torch in his left hand. She had seen his brooding tempers, but the emotions controlling him now were far beyond anything she had ever witnessed within another human being. The intensity of it frightened her into silence as he dragged her on.

Passing down endless corridors and curving staircases the coldness of the underground passages began to seep into her bones. Christine couldn't stop the shivers which now raked her body. As the cold numbed her, as Erik's grip bit just a little harder into her wrist Christine felt her fear melt against the heat of the building anger in her heart. She had never been strong willed, a fact which she knew and accepted, yet at that moment her soul rebelled against the fate which her angel had decreed for her. Christine knew at that moment that she would do whatever it took to win her freedom, to win the happiness that she finally deserved.

The journey to Erik's secret underground home was surprisingly long. Seven stories of underground passages lay between the surface and his chilly dwelling. By the time he had shoved Christine into the awaiting boat, she no longer had the strength to fight him off. She lay exhausted on the boat's floor as he poled through the network of flooded chambers that made up the vast underground lake, her dark eyes silently shouting her disgust and rebellion as she glared up at him. He had long since fallen quiet but, Christine knew that in no way did his silence indicate a lessening of his anger.

All too soon, the boat bumped against the shallow stone bottom of the small harbor in front of his home. Christine sat up quickly, her gaze rising up to Erik's face as he viciously tossed the pole aside and stepped from the boat. He turned to her and she flinched away, expecting to be hauled to her feet. She was surprised when he merely offered her his hand.

When she hesitated he cursed in irritation. "Damn you woman, take my hand. The stairs are slippery." His voice was rough from his ranting and the barely disguised anger, but still a note of concern was clearly discernable.

Christine stood unsteadily and took his offered hand. He helped her from the boat; his hand lingering in her touch, before reluctantly releasing her. His unexpected gentleness dampened Christine's rising anger. His kindness had always had that effect on her. It was hard to stay angry in the face of such affection.

Yet, as he silently moved away from her, Christine felt herself grab hold of her fury once again. It was the only thing which would be able to stand strong against the magnetism of his personality. She would not be seduced again.


	6. Fire From Above

Chapter 5: Fire From Above

Overhead the chandelier gave an ominous groan as it jerked downwards several feet. The crowd below quickly forgot the deformed man onstage as all eyes turned upwards with a collective gasp. Brielle came to her senses and shut her shrieking mouth with a snap. Bending over quickly, she snatched the large black satchel from the floor.

The pounding pressure in her head dissipated like a morning fog in sunlight, leaving the half remembered snippets of her dreams to come into sharp focus. They played out clearly within her mind now as if she were looking through a series of photographs. She saw the chandelier sway as the ceiling cracked, raining plaster down on the frozen crowd below. She saw it break free of its moorings and come crashing down into the audience. She saw blackened bodies twist in agony amongst the flames, heard people screaming until their breath was burned from their lungs.

She saw it all as if it had already happened. But it hadn't yet happened. They still had time.

"Run! Run, the chandelier is falling!" she cried at the top of her lungs, pushing the gentleman to her left towards the aisle.

The man started at her touch, being jostled out of his frozen panic and into motion. Brielle looked over her shoulder quickly as she continued to plunge forward, only to find Conner right behind her. Relief rushed through the growing panic at the sight of him, but her thoughts remained grim. _It will fall any second. There isn't enough time!_

Seemingly reading her mind, Conner leapt over the row in front of theirs and began shooing its occupants towards the aisle. He had half the aisle cleared in seconds. His tall stature and booming accented voice assisted him in drawing attention and commanding action.

Directly overhead the giant chandelier lurched once more, waterfalls of snow-like plaster cascading down, before giving into gravity and plummeting towards the terrified audience. The elaborate layers of faceted crystal tinkled together as it fell, the sound a strangely innocent backdrop to the terrifying scene.

The crowd no longer stared up in horror, the sudden motion of the chandelier driving everyone into panic stricken motion. In a split second the well bred members of the audience changed, giving into the animalistic panic saturating the air. Finely dressed gentlemen climbed unapologetically over young ladies in order to reach the theater's exits; young ladies tore at each other's gowns and pushed their neighbors as they ran. In that moment all bonds of affection were forgotten in a frantic bid to save their own lives.

Still attempting to usher people out of the way Brielle was first pushed roughly to one side and then another, no longer in control over her own movements. The tidal wave of bodies rushing towards the exits swept her up. She had not been born with great height; the top of her head barely reached five foot five, and so the crush of the crowd rendered her nearly blind, for she couldn't see what was happening over the shoulders of those pressed against her. In the sea of shoulders and chests she had no way of knowing how much time was left until the chandelier hit.

"Conner! Where are you!" she cried out breathlessly over the din of other panicked voices.

She elbowed the hysterical gentleman next to her as he tried to push her out of his way. Vaguely she could hear someone shouting her name, but she couldn't find the voice's source amongst the mayhem.

As bodies jostled against her own, Brielle's natural aversion to large crowds caused her heart to leap even further into her throat, choking the breath from her body. She pushed frantically against the people surrounding her on all sides, but the mob only seemed to squeeze closer. For a moment nothing remained in her head but the need to get out. To breathe. She fought fiercely against those who would have gladly climbed over her and was able to remain upright, barely.

A deafening explosion marked the impact of the chandelier as it fell into the first three rows of the theater. Brielle, along with those around her, was knocked to her knees by the force of the collision. She lay stunned upon the floor for a moment, gasping for breath. She felt the weight of someone's knee as they crawled over her legs, heard many footsteps as people regained their feet and fled. Awkwardly Brielle heaved herself into a sitting position and stared dazedly about, her ears buzzing painfully from the concussive sound wave.

The room tilted drunkenly as she blinked at the chaos all around her. Thick, black smoke billowed from the orchestra pit in great rolling waves; obscuring the stage and quickly filling the great space above her head. The eerie unsteady light of flames danced up from below. Strange shrieks and groans issued from the heart of the fire as the instruments abandoned by the orchestra succumbed to the heat, the strings popping free of their stays and metal super heating to twist unnaturally amongst the flames.

Reaching up Brielle gripped the arm of a seat to steady herself. Using it she pulled herself up into a crouch then into a standing position as the dizziness and disorientation faded.

The press of bodies about her had thinned somewhat in the moments she had lain in shock and so she was able to turn easily and see greedy flames completely engulfing the orchestra pit. _God rest their souls if anyone was still in there._ Terrible tortured cries began to rise up from near the front of the theater, screaming above the hiss and roar of the fire. The voices of the injured soon overtook those of the fleeing patrons filling the theater with pained gasps and frightened pleas.

Brielle glanced towards a nearby exit, the need to escape the noise and the smoke momentarily overpowering her senses. She took several hurried steps toward the open door, her heart pounding frantically against her rib cage and her breath sawing in and out of her lungs all the while. But then she slowed and stopped, turning her head slowly to look back at the destruction behind her.

The heat from the growing inferno hit her full in the face, making the skin across her nose and cheeks seem suddenly too tight for her bones. She squinted her eyes against the bright blinding light of the fire and could just make out the dark outlines of people scattered throughout the aisles. The fear clawed within her, moving like a living thing in her gut. The exit and the cool clean air beyond called to her.

Once again her eyes flickered to the people who still remained within the theater; to those lying upon the floor clutching at injuries, their wailing resounding in the air. How could she leave them behind? What was all of this for if she turned and ran now?

Her brows pulled down and she closed her eyes for one steadying moment. Her hands shook as she licked her lips and turned away from the exit. Clutching her black leather bag in a white-knuckled grip she stumbled towards the blaze.

Brielle skidded to a halt and dropped her bag upon the floor when she caught sight of a young lady running wildly down the aisle, her skirts on fire. Racing after the girl, Brielle tackled her from behind. They hit the ground hard but Brielle recovered quickly and, using her own skirts, doused the flames flickering about the other girl's ankles. The young woman burst into relieved tears as Brielle helped her to her feet.

"You aren't hurt badly, so hurry and leave this place. Tell anyone who will listen outside that we need their help. There are many who are injured that we must treat at once. Do you understand me?" The girl nodded her head quickly, more than willing to run from the growing fire upon the stage.

As the girl ran up the center aisle Brielle turned and picked up her leather bag. Opening it, she pulled out several rolls of gauze, a bottle of strong whiskey, a sharp pair of scissors, and a suturing kit. She had packed all the items earlier that day from her personal medical kit at home.

Juggling the medical supplies Brielle moved through the aisles, quickly assessing the injured as she came upon them. Her movements soon became automatic as she bandaged and sterilized an array of wounds and burns. Most of those she came across could walk out of the theater on their own, but there were a few that would find it difficult to ever walk again.

Those that could walk or crawl she practically shoved towards the exits, hoping that they could make it out under their own power. But as the number of serious causalities climbed into the double digits Brielle began to feel the strain of being the only one running the triage. _I am not strong enough to carry these people out. I can't do anything more for them in here. They have to get out of here and to a hospital. _

The older gentleman whose leg she was currently splinting was staring at her intently. "Are you a nurse young lady?" he asked politely, noticing the competency of her actions.

"No monsieur I am not a nurse," she said with a brilliantly contrived expression of serenity upon her face, forcing herself to ignore the heat and the roaring at her back.

Noticing the man's confusion, she continued with some hesitation. "My father was a surgeon in the military for many years. I grew up watching him work. I would often visit him at the hospitals and spent a great deal of time reading medical texts in his various offices."

The man nodded and patted her hand. "How terrible for such a pretty young girl."

Brielle frowned at his comment for it hadn't been terrible at all. It had been enlightening. When her mother died when Brielle was still young her Father had been left to raise two children alone. With nothing to guide him except memories of his own upbringing her father had raised her more like a son than a daughter; teaching her botany, anatomy, medicine, and mathematics. He encouraged the analytical and independent bent of her personality; buying her microscopes and medical books rather than ribbons or dresses for her birthdays.

When she was older he even took her to work with him where she not only witnessed surgeries and various diseases but assisted him in caring for his patients. It was there at his side that she saw the devastation a one ounce Minnie Ball could inflict on the human body; splintering bones and tearing flesh in moments, leaving no other choice but amputation to save a life. That was if the soldier was lucky.

But all too often he was not so lucky. As a result Brielle was well acquainted with death by her early teens. And it had never ceased to amaze her how one moment a young man was there, his heart beating, his lungs breathing, thoughts and feelings moving through his mind, and then the next moment he was not. The spark that had giving him life and animation went out and he was simply gone.

She had been nursed upon humanity's greatest cruelties in the halls and wards of those hospitals and as a result nothing surprised her now. No matter how heinous the deed, she had seen worse.

"No Monsier, it wasn't terrible," she murmured as she wrapped the man's ankle tightly with a long swatch of cotton. "I have always been grateful for my upbringing. Even though it was rather unusual."

Not looking very convinced by that the man winced when she tied a tight bow to keep the wrap in place. "I should think teaching you such things would put you at a disadvantage. When did you have time to learn the subjects better suited to young ladies?"

Brielle gave the man a long measuring look. There was a time when such a statement would have ignited Brielle's temper, and prompted a biting retort. But now she merely felt a passing flicker of annoyance that barely even caused her to frown, the anger damped just as everything else by heartache.

Looking away from his face Brielle stuffed the remaining bandage back into her bag. "I was provided with that form of education as well," she muttered, a slight tint of distaste coloring her tone.

For many years Brielle assumed that she would one day become a doctor, like her father before her. She absorbed any scrap of knowledge she could in order to achieve this one goal. But then when she was thirteen one of her father's co-workers explained that it just wasn't right for girls to go to medical school. That she would never be accepted into any program. A woman's tendency towards emotional displays and her natural aversion to the baser realities of life would make it impossible. And no gently raised lady could be subjected to the male patient and his anatomy without being disgraced.

It had been a blow to realize that no matter how much she learned or how skilled she would become she would never be considered to be anything other than a woman playing at being a doctor.

It was around that time that her father had begun insisting that she learn subjects more appropriate to her sex. He had bowed to the gentle suggestions of his co-workers and their wives; believing that perhaps he had made a mistake in her upbringing, that he had set her up for a lifetime of disappointments.

So she learned how to embroidery pillows and paint in water colors, all the while secretly planning to prove everyone wrong. Somehow she would be an exception to the rules. Somehow she would be taken seriously and she would be able to help people. But then her father became very ill and followed her mother to the grave and her hopes of a brilliant triumph and career evaporated into nothing. Leaving her and Connor alone to make their own way in the world.

The older gentleman gave her a fatherly smile. "Well in any case, you do better work than my son does Madame and he is actually a doctor." She gave a half-hearted smile at that statement, shaking her head. The man smiled with her, missing the more subtle emotions hidden by her expression.

"Give me a bit of that whiskey and I will be able to assist you. I have been retired for two years but I think I can manage well enough. A doctor never forgets I suppose." She nodded, thankful for the help, as she pulled the gentleman to his feet. He hobbled slowly on his sprained ankle to another injured person a few feet away.

Now that some help had arrived Brielle straightened tiredly and wiped her sweating forehead. Her pewter gray gown was blood spattered and the intricate pile of hair upon her head was coming undone. Strands of white hair hung ignored about her face as she wiped her hands absently upon her skirt.

Brielle stood still for just a moment as she tiredly surveyed the once beautiful theater. Gray tufts of ash floated eerily through the air, gathering upon the red velvet seats like dirty snow. She even felt the light touch of it in her hair, heard the flakes whisper past her ears. She fought fatigue as her heart slowed to a more normal level. Even breathing felt like a hardship in the heavy and heated air.

She glanced away from the stage when she heard the unmistakable lilt of her Brother's Irish accent over the steady hissing of the flames. A relieved smile crossed her face when she saw Conner run into the theater, the fire brigade upon his heels. She raised her hand and slowly waved to draw his attention through the gathering smoke.

"Conner, over here! We need litters to carry out the injured!" He nodded his understanding turning towards the fire chief to relay the request. The chubby fire marshal waddled out of the theater to harangue some of the young noble men into being on litter patrol.

Conner hurried over to stand next to his sister as she passed the elderly gentleman a roll of gauze. "Are you injured?" he asked her tensely, his eyes sharply examining her face.

"I am fine," Brielle stated simply, the sight of her brother making her voice shake ever so slightly. "The blood isn't mine."

"Lord, Bri. When I lost sight of you I nearly lost my mind. Here I promised to protect you and within seconds I lose you." Conner burst out, guilt and anxiety carving stark white lines across his face.

"You couldn't have done anything about that Conner. I got caught in the crowd. And I know you ran to get the fire brigade," she said as she watched a makeshift bucket line form down one of the side aisles. Water began splashing over the flames at regular intervals, creating large puffs of steam but finally the flames began to diminish. "You did everything you could have. Your actions, I am sure, saved many lives." Reaching out she grasped his hand and gave it a squeeze.

He smiled at her assurances the uncertainty fading quickly. "Well of course. You shouldn't have expected anything less," he replied to her arrogantly, puffing out his chest slightly. His haughty attitude bringing a tired smile to her face.

"Alright hero," she sighed, giving him a push. "Go and do something else useful and let me get back to work!"

He wrinkled his freckled nose at her and turned upon his heel to help carry the injured out of the theater. He turned at the doorway to the foyer and shouted at the top of his lungs. "I would have hugged you lass, but you look like death!" And with that he turned and disappeared, his overly lighthearted words further easing the panic crouching within her chest.

Brielle turned, calmer now, back towards the fire, her gray eyes searching for those in need of aid. Her gaze quickly swept the theater aisles, then rose to the stage. She squinted through the thickening haze, starting when she made out the form of a large man lying upon the stage mere yards from the blazing chandelier. _How could I have missed him!_

Picking up her skirts Brielle ran towards the front of the theater, carefully dodging about the flames in the first and second rows. Placing her hands upon the stage she hauled herself up until she could hook a knee over the edge. She had chosen a relatively safe section of the stage, yet she still had to pick her way around smoldering planks to reach the unconscious man.

Kneeling down, she shook the man's shoulder calling out to him. When the man didn't move she shook harder, becoming concerned. Brielle was hesitant to move the large man but she slowly turned him onto his back. She knew the man was dead instantly. His fat face was devoid of any sign of animation; his eyes were utterly blank. He was obviously clothed in a costume from Don Juan.

_One of the performers who hadn't escaped the chandelier? _ His was the first death she had come across within the theater. She shook her head sadly, getting to her feet. Only then noticing the rope tangled about his throat and the small pistol in his hand.

She bent to examine the man more closely when a strange sound drifted to her over the crackling of the nearby fire. As Brielle listened, she was reminded of popcorn popping over a cozy hearth. Slowly that pleasant image faded as she took several steps towards the lip of the stage. The picture of wood snapping and popping free of its nails assailed her senses, causing her expression to quickly lose its cool. And the noise was growing louder.

Brielle glanced down in shock when the wood under her feet lurched beneath her. With a gasp she staggered to the side, her heart racing into her throat, choking the scream rising to her mouth. _Oh no…nonono. The stage can't be unsound! The fire didn't even reach this far…_

The white haired woman stood perfectly still, her breath coming in short pants. She shut her eyes tightly, praying for the horrible popping sound to stop. Brielle bit her lip and opened her eyes when the groaning ceased. A relieved smile was just beginning to grace her pale features when the wood under her feet gave out beneath her. Within seconds her form disappeared from view. The only trace of her presence upon the stage was the hole she had disappeared through.


	7. Saving Grace

Chapter 6: Saving Grace

Insulated by the crushing weight of the stone above them, the Opera House's interconnecting cellars were bathed in complete and utter silence. All of the chaotic sounds from the upper floors, the roaring of the burning chandelier and the din of human voices, were filtered out, unable to penetrate beyond the most superficial layers; leaving the air heavy with its stillness and disuse.

It was this pressing quiet which slowly brought Brielle back into consciousness. Her mind struggled groggily to wake itself from the dead faint she had been under for quite some time. With a moan she became aware of her rather odd surroundings. She was laying face first in a pile of rough cotton cloth, her waist-length hair falling free about her shoulders. And she was pretty sure her skirts were ripped to shreds. _Where am I?_

Disoriented, Brielle shifted so she lay on her back, hissing as her battered body protested painfully. Opening her eyes slowly, she braced herself for all manner of shocking sights to assault her eyes. Blinking rapidly she moved her gaze first left and then right, but to either side she saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. Startled Brielle frantically searched for some sign of light in the darkness, but found none. Her heart speeding up within her chest she let out a short yelp and sat bolt upright, waving her hands in front of her eyes.

"I'M BLIND!" she gasped aloud.

Brielle immediately began to let out a string of expletives which could have made a sailor blush in shame; her anxiety and solitude driving her speech straight into a gutter she would never dare venture to in public. And then, just as the first signs of full blown panic fluttered within her, something miraculous happened. Vague gray shapes, barely discernable against the black of their background, began to appear out of the darkness before her. Falling silent with a great whooshing sigh of relief Brielle realized that her eyes had just needed time to adjust to the darkness. Feeling like a fool for her silly, impulsive outburst Brielle pressed a palm against her still bounding heartbeat.

The memory of what had happened earlier, and how she had gotten to her current odd location, was slow in coming, but when it did Brielle stumbled painfully to her feet. In her mind's eye she saw the great fire consuming the orchestra pit. Placing a hand against the pounding headache between her eyes, Brielle recalled climbing onto the stage to assist the man she had seen. The horrible sound of failing wood still rang in her ears. Glancing upwards she tried to locate the hole through which she had fallen, but her eyes could find no sign of light from above.

"They must have shut the gas off while I was unconscious," Brielle mumbled to herself as she tried to make out her surroundings. Pushing a long strand of her straight, pale hair behind one ear, she squinted into the darkness.

The pile of rough cotton cloth which she had apparently landed upon turned out to be several ancient backdrops. As she turned, her vision becoming sharper with every passing second, she saw piles upon piles of old sets and boxes of discarded costumes surrounding her on all sides. Stepping forward to examine some of the objects more closely Brielle frowned down at the seemingly chaotic organization of the coiled ropes, fake weaponry, and moth-eaten costumes lying scattered in heaps across the floor.

Disapproving of the mess, even though it reminded her vaguely of her work desk at home, Brielle let out a breath and turned back toward the center of the room. Her back and forth pacing began to kick up the layer of dust which covered the floor a quarter inch thick, clogging the air until she could taste the dryness of it in her mouth. Coughing briefly she realized no one had set foot in that room for years. A chill crawled up her spine at this thought. She could feel her isolation like the suffocating touch of a shroud surrounding her.

Brielle wrapped her arms about her waist, guarding against the chilly air. She moved away from the stack of backdrops, raising one hand to feel out before her in the darkness. Her eyes wide and searching, Brielle found her way to the far wall. Moving along its length hesitantly, feeling with both her feet and hands, she soon stumbled upon a doorway.

Chuckling nervously, she opened the door slowly. "Great I found the door. Now give me a few years and I will find my way out of here."

Glancing back over her shoulder towards the ceiling through which she had fallen, she hesitated at the doorway. "Conner must have gotten everyone out by now. Once they get to a hospital they will be fine." And yet she couldn't help but wonder if she could have done something more. _Perhaps I should have brought more medication or maybe I could have tied that one splint tighter._

"I have to stop second guessing myself! There could have been nothing else for me to do. Just stop thinking about it." With a snort she turned and moved through the ancient doorway.

Stumbling along in the darkness, one hand tracing the cold stone wall, she moved quietly down the dim corridor. The rustling of her torn skirts was the only sound within the darkness. As a considerable amount of time passed without the discovery of another door or a staircase, she began to seriously doubt if she could find an exit herself.

With a sigh, she leaned her back against the wall next to her in order to contemplate her next move. So far wandering about blind had not served her well. She did not know the layout of the Opera. Even with a bit of light, she wasn't sure if she could find her way out. She shook her head, hating that she couldn't do this herself.

Slapping her palm against the wall in frustration, Brielle pushed off and began to walk down the hallway once more. With relief she finally found another corridor crossing the one she was currently traveling. She turned left, hoping to find a staircase somewhere along her new choice. Coming upon another intersection she made another left, then another. By the time she realized the corridor she was in was sloping _downwards_ she had no way of finding her way back.

Raising her hands to run through her loose hair she growled. Brielle was not a woman used to failing in her endeavors. Her current situation was driving her mad.

On the verge of cursing in frustration, Brielle was interrupted by the sound of a distant voice. Lowering her hands from where they gripped her hair, she turned her face towards the sound. She stilled every movement to better hear the direction from where the sounds were emitting. The voice was getting louder as she stood silent. And when the sight of distant torch light met her wide eyes, she took off running towards the glow.

"Hello! Wait for me please. I am lost and…" She slowed her steps suddenly when a terrible feeling settled heavily in the bottom of her stomach.

Though it didn't make sense, she _knew_ that the stranger was bad news. The man holding the torch turned towards her then, surprised at her appearance. His piggish face was covered with a scraggly beard and set upon a short thick body. Standing a few feet away from the man, she caught the tell tale scent of gin upon his breath. The voice in the back of Brielle's mind screamed for caution.

He had jumped when she called out to him, but when he caught sight of her he flashed a toothless grin. Taking a step towards the her, the man raised his torch higher, peering at her face.

"Well hello there pretty," he began, his eyes glittering.

"You gave me a fright. You look to be a ghost when in the dark. But now that I see ya I can tell you ain't no ghost." The smile grew into a leer. "Tell me sweetie, have you seen the Phantom come running through here? I am lookin' to collect the bounty upon his head before the others get to him."

Brielle shook her head in the negative, suddenly wishing she hadn't come across this nasty man.

"No? You haven't seen him then? Damn. You know I bet they would pay if he were dead or alive." The man casually pulled a small pocket knife from his pocket. "I do hope to be the first one to find him. Never killed no one before. But that ghost sure has been a thorn in this place's side. Sure if anyone deserves it, he does."

Brielle stood paralyzed, listening to this man. He obviously had been drinking a great deal and she wasn't sure how to handle him. Especially since he had just confessed to planning a murder.

"I have seen no one monsieur. Actually I am lost. Can you please tell me the way out?"

The man laughed at her question, a string of spittle flying out of his mouth at the outburst. "My and aren't you a fine lady with her high manners," he chuckled, giving her a once over. Something shifted behind his eyes as he gazed at her. It appeared as though a new idea was taking hold within his mind. Brielle shifted uncomfortable under his gaze. His eyes were beginning to make her feel exposed, almost dirty.

"Well hey there my fine lady you want to come and find the ghost with me? I promise I would take _real _good care of you," he sneered. Brielle forced herself not to make a face at the innuendo within his question, keeping her expression carefully blank as her insides shuddered with revulsion.

"No thank you monsieur. I will just find my own way out. Thank you for your assistance." Brielle allowed the ice water flowing through her veins to infuse her voice. She quickly backed up several feet, trying to make a speedy retreat. She now longed for the darkness as she had longed for the light mere minutes ago.

The man moved with surprising speed for being intoxicated. He reached forwards and grabbed Brielle by the upper arm instantly halting her escape. "Now aren't you a cheeky little piece," he growled, his stinking breath blowing into her face, making her want to gag.

"I make you such a nice offer and you throw it back into my face." He shook her arm hard, making her teeth rattle about in her skull. Taking a step forwards he pinned her against the wall. "Maybe I wasn't clear enough," he stated with a laugh, using his thumb to caress the side of her bodice.

At his unwanted contact Brielle furiously pushed against the man's chest with all the force her small frame could manage. The drunk stumbled backwards two steps, dropping the knife in his hand, but he quickly regained his footing. Lunging towards the her again, he missed the steely threat swimming in her eyes.

"Leave me be monsieur, or I will have to do you some harm."

He merely laughed as he reached to clasp her arm once again in his beefy hand. Brielle bared her teeth threateningly as she herself lunged forwards. Her movements caught the man off guard; he had expected her to cower away. The alcohol in his blood prevented him from stopping his forward motion. Brielle was inches away from him in seconds. She gripped the lapels of his sweat stained shirt and drove a knee into his groin, using both their momentums to add to the force of her thrust.

The man's face drained immediately of all color as he dropped to the floor silently. The torch flew from his hand and clattered to the ground. Both his hands clamped protectively over his crotch as he twisted into a fetal position. A faint whimper finally escaped his bloodless lips, but his voice remained paralyzed.

Brielle coolly bent down and picked up the man's forgotten torch, hiding the trembling in her hands by gripping the wood handle tight. She turned her attention to his face, a smirk slowly forming behind her stone gray eyes though her pretty heart shaped mouth remained unmoving.

"I warned you, you flea bitten bastard," she hissed with cold bravado, her fear slowly being replaced with righteous anger.

"But I thank you for your torch monsieur. It will be most helpful, I am sure. And now you can rot here in the dark. Count yourself lucky that I am currently otherwise engaged or I would allow you to meet my dear brother as well." Straightening, Brielle turned upon her heel and swept down the hallway, the light of her torch dancing along the walls cast her shadow out before her. The coldness of her expression quickly melted to reveal the lingering panic underneath. _Oh God… that was so close…._

Once she turned a corner, she broke out into a run wishing to get far, far away from the drunken man she had left behind. Once he regained his senses he would be very angry indeed. She had no intention of being about when that happened.

Brielle ran until she could run no longer. Her newly pilfered torch drooping with her exhaustion, she leaned heavily against the wall. Her pulse frantically throbbed at the base of her throat. She laughed nervously as she raised a shaking hand to her racing heart. Suddenly she was grateful for having those brawling lessons from Conner when they were young. Ladylike or not, they had proven rather useful.

As Brielle's heart slowed back to normal, she closed her eyes with fatigue. She slid slowly to the ground, allowing her head to fall back against the cold stone behind her. Her body was reaching its limit. Every muscle was burning from her earlier sprint and she knew a multitude of bruises were forming from her fall through the stage.

Worse than these complaints was the acute pain pounding harder and harder within her skull. It felt almost as if her brain were liquefying. Raising both her hands, she pressed her palms into her temples. The pressure made the pain recede for a moment, allowing her to breathe without gasping. This always happened every time she had one of her dreams or feelings. It was almost as if her mind were rebelling against the things she saw. Sometimes it happened instantly. Then other times, as in this case, it took hours to set in. She knew the pain would pass quickly; it always left within a half an hour. But at the moment she knew nothing outside her own personal hell.

Time passed slowly as Brielle mentally tried separate herself from the agony in her head. Silently reminding herself over and over that it would soon pass, she forced herself to take deep breathes. And just when she thought she couldn't bear it any longer the sound of faint moaning slowly began to filter through the aching in Brielle's head. She ignored the sound, figuring it was emanating from her own throat. But as the headache receded she began to realize that the moans were not in fact coming from her. Carefully raising her head from her knees and she looked blurrily down the hallway.

Listening intently, she peered into the darkness beyond the ring of torchlight. A frown pulled down at the corners of her mouth as the moaning gave way to wrenching sobs. Never in her life had Brielle ever heard a more heartbreaking sound. Even when she was young and traveling with her father between battlefields, Brielle had never felt so affected by a single sound. Her heavily guarded heart broke just a little bit.

Brielle reached over and picked up her abandoned torch from where she had set it earlier. Rubbing her temple to ease the last of the pain, she stood slowly. Raising the torch to eye level, Brielle began to walk towards where the soft sounds were coming from. As she walked, the ground began to tilt upwards. A feeling of relief flooded through her body as she realized she was headed back up to the surface.

The elation she felt soon deflated as the weeping grew louder with her every step. Brielle's throat began to itch and she coughed several times before realizing the air was growing steadily hazier. The torchlight no longer threw a wide arc of light before her. Smoke now confined the light to a small circle immediately about her body. Brielle hastily raised a hand to cover her mouth as she coughed violently in reaction to the thickening smoke. The moaning she had been following now seemed to be immediately before her. But she couldn't quite see its source through the haze.

"Hello?" she called into the darkness, her tone wavering with her remaining wariness. At her voice, the broken sobs stopped immediately. "Is somebody there? If you are injured I can assist you."

Only silence greeted her inquiry. She shifted, holding the torch higher, even as the smoke began to burn her lungs.

"Please, if someone is there we must leave this passage immediately. This place must be near the theater. The smoke has been filtering down here for hours. We must leave before we suffocate!" Her final words ended on a croak and she desperately attempted to clear her throat.

No one answered her. Total silence settled into the air. Then a soft gasping sound followed by several violent coughs punctuated the gloom. The moaning began again in earnest, accompanied by soft mumbling. Having zeroed in upon the source of the sounds Brielle quickly stepped forwards. She now walked blindly, her torch offering no visibility through the haze.

Suddenly Brielle's foot ran into something soft lying upon the ground. She stumbled against the wall and dropped her torch, which immediately guttered to a faint flicker. Another moan sounded from the floor when she turned to stare down through the haze at a man sprawled across the passage.

He lay face down on the cold stone of the floor his face resting in the crook of one arm. Even in the darkness Brielle could make out his form. He was older than her, mid thirties perhaps; a fan of faint creases winking to life about his eye as he grimaced. His plain white cotton shirt was shredded and hung loosely about his body. It appeared as if he had suffered some great misfortune. _Perhaps those wretched people mistook him for the Ghost. _

Brielle quickly knelt by his side, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Monsieur, are you injured?" He shifted at her touch and she felt him raise his shoulders slightly.

He turned his head ever so slightly, continuing to mumble to himself. His voice scratched hoarsely in the quiet of the passage, roughened by the smoke and overuse. "Christine? Don't leave me…please," he croaked before collapsing on the floor again, now on his back, his eyes tiredly falling closed. A hacking cough shook his body as another moan escaped him.

Brielle hesitated at the familiar name, then placed her hand upon his forehead. His bare skin was burning hot to the touch, but she could feel a shivering shaking his body as if from cold. When the man jerked his head out from under her touch Brielle shifted her position, one hand resting on his chest to draw his attention. She ran her fingers over the tattered remains of what once must have been a finely made cotton shirt suddenly realizing his clothing was completely saturated with water. _No wonder he is so ill, his clothes are soaking wet._

"Monsieur, you have a fever. And if you stay in this smoke for too long, it will damage your lungs. Can you stand?" She took his arm in her hands and tugged gently.

A deep, rolling growl emitted from the prone man and his eyes flared open once again. The sheen of fever had cleared and he fixed a fierce glare up at her, his eyes glittering near black in the smoldering light of the torch. "Leave me be, wretched woman." His smoke roughened voice cut harshly through the air. "Can a man not die in peace?" He swiped at her hands and dislodged them from his arm before stilling once more.

Brielle sighed as a glimmer of irritation ignited within her, but the sound quickly transformed into a series of violent coughs. _There isn't time for this. I can barely breath as it is. I cannot stay here much longer. We must leave. _Coming to a decision she reached down and roughly jerked upon the man's arm dragging him into a sitting position. He turned and she felt him more than saw him go rigid in surprise, shocked at her insolent behavior.

"I cannot leave you here, monsieur. And we cannot stay." She stood, his well formed upper arm still gripped in both hands. "So you must get up before we both suffocate."

Brielle could feel the man's eyes glaring at her through the gloom but he remained silent, perhaps trying to focus his feverish mind. He did not appear to be accustomed to arguing with another human being, let alone a strange woman. He attempted to jerk his arm free from her grasp once more, but her small hands were like vises upon his bicep.

"My welfare is none of your concern. It would be advantageous for you to leave immediately. I have no wish to be moved." He growled, allowing his smoke roughened voice to convey the subtle threat in his words. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to affect Brielle the way he had intended. If anything, his threat merely hardened her resolve.

"Your _wishes_ are none of my concern monsieur. But since I have stumbled upon you, your _life_ is. Now get to your feet before I am forced to drag you out by your hair!" Brielle exclaimed. The man fell silent at her menacing words; his shock making him momentarily pliant, allowing Brielle to drag him to his feet before he realized what was happening.

Brielle released his arm and gently wrapped her own arm about his waist. The man stiffened at her contact but blessedly remained silent.

"You may put your arm about my shoulders, monsieur," she said in the calm, gentle tone she had perfected while volunteering in local hospitals. A few feet away the torch gave one final sputter of light before going completely out, plunging the corridor into absolute blackness. Marshaling her courage Brielle continued on in the same composed tone. "Your fever may have weakened you. Lean on me if the need arises."

Feeling the hesitation freezing the man in place Brielle carefully reached over her head and brought his arm about her shoulders, taking the decision out of his hands for expediency's sake. Sighing heavily the man sagged against her, the warmth of his feverish skin radiating through his wet shirt, warming her in the chilly air. Turning her head slightly Brielle started when the top of her head brushed under the vexing man's chin; evidently he had been looking down at her through the now crushing darkness. Tilting her head slightly away from him, Brielle realized she was the perfect height for him to lean upon her. Their bodies fit together like the pieces of a puzzle. It was a slightly disturbing revelation even though the fit was highly useful at the moment.

Brielle could feel his eyes burning into the top of his head as he continued to gaze down at her. She shifted under his gaze, uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny.

She glanced up at where she assumed his shaded face was before stepping forwards slowly. When she moved Brielle guided him along with her, pressing her palm firmly against his lower back, urging him into motion. The mysterious man moved to step forwards as well but unexpectedly stumbled forward, his knees giving out. The pair stumbled before Brielle could brace herself to support his weight. The man cursed fiercely under his breath when she didn't pause and moved forwards again.

"Did I not express my acute wish to be left here? And now because of your mulish behavior, Madame, I am now subjected to the humiliation of being led by…" A fit of coughing overtook the dark haired man then, cutting off the rest of what he was going to say. Despite his obvious resistance to the idea his body sagged further against hers as they continued down the corridor.

The smoke grew thicker as the hallway sloped closer to the surface, making each breath a struggle. Brielle's eyes began to sting from the acrid air and she felt the man next to her coughing quietly. She knew they needed to find the way out and quickly. Despite her confident airs she still had no idea how to escape the labyrinth under the Opera and time was quickly running out. As she forced herself to take another step forward she silently calculated how much longer she would be able to function within the smoke laden air before succumbing to exhaustion and smoke inhalation.

The pair stumbled on through the darkness, and then suddenly something in the air changed, the feel of a larger space gaped open to he left. Ignoring what must be a side hall, that led god knew where, Brielle continued passed it. As the pair struggled beyond the intersection, Brielle felt the man hesitate slightly, his head turned to look down the other hall. Wondering at his sudden interest in their direction Brielle slowly came to a stop when a new idea took hold within her mind.

"Do you know how to get out of here, Monsieur?" she asked slowly, a sneaking suspicion stealing through her.

"Of course," he croaked snidely.

Brielle gritted her teeth in frustration at his terse reply. "Why didn't you say anything! We are about to suffocate and you keep something like that to yourself?"

The man merely gave a weak shrug before replying. "You didn't ask Madame."

Brielle puffed up as temper suddenly rushed through her, but the retort forming on her lips was interrupted when she sucked in a bit too much smoke, producing a wracking cough. She stumbled slightly as she doubled over. The man's arm instinctively tightened about her shoulders. Supporting her, despite his weakened state.

When she regained her composure, she shot a furious glare towards the man she was supporting. "By all means, point the way, Monsieur."

He merely nodded with exhaustion their verbal sparring having worn him out. He pointed down the hallway she had been about to pass. Following his indications, the pair continued to stumble in the darkness. The smoke impossibly thickened even more.

With every passing minute the man leaned harder upon her shoulders. His head drooped even lower as his feet began to drag. Brielle's thin mask of calm cracked as she looked up at him. She could feel a sheen of sweat breaking out over his skin where their bodies where pressed together. _He is very sick._ She thought with a growing level of concern. And she knew she wouldn't be able to carry him if he collapsed completely. Resisting the self preserving urge to hurry her steps, to escape, Brielle concentrated on keeping her footing. She knew that if she walked faster the man on her arm wouldn't be able to keep up; she may be able to save herself but she knew she would have to leave him behind. It was an unacceptable outcome.

"Just a little farther, Monsieur. Please continue for just a little longer," she prodded encouragingly. The man nodded absently but otherwise did not respond.

Straining to see ahead in the impenetrable shadows, Brielle was caught completely by surprise when they collided with what seemed to be a wooden door. She had not even noticed that they had reached the end of the tunnel. Shifting her grip upon the man's waist, Brielle reached forwards and fumbled for a doorknob, jerking the ancient door open as soon as she found it. A blast of bitter cold wind instantly hit her face. She laughed aloud in relief as she drew in a deep cleansing breath. She laughed aloud in relief as she drew in a deep cleansing breath. Slowly they made their way through the door, both their feet dragging with fatigue.

Blinking rapidly in the light of a nearby streetlamp, Brielle paused in the open doorway, momentarily dazzled by the light glinting off the white street outside. Sometime during the hours she had wandered in the bowels of the theater it had begun to snow. The world outside was now blanketed in a clean layer of white powder, giving everything a clean, fresh glow. Brielle stumbled forwards then, forcing herself to leave the doorway even though her eyes had not fully adjusted from the darkness of the theater. The opening behind her spewed the thick black smoke from which they had barely escaped; it clung momentarily to their clothing as the pair stepped into the snow.

As soon as she stepped clear from the theater the man she was supporting folded like a rag doll to the ground. Unable to support his full weight, Brielle stumbled with him as he fell, his arm about her shoulders dragging her with him. She threw her hands out to break her fall and hit the snow covered cobblestones with a grunt. Scrambling to her knees she struggled out from under his limp arm. Swiveling around to face the mysterious man Brielle quickly assessed his condition. Lying face down in the snow he was shivering violently in the freezing air, but he made no move to shift his position or sit up. Her brow furrowing Brielle leaned forward and quickly cleared the snow away from his face, giving him a better space to breathe. Blowing several strands of her straggling hair out of her face Brielle laid a hand on the man's forehead. She was startled by the scorching heat of his skin. His fever had progressed remarkably fast.

She leaned forwards and shook him slightly, her long hair bushing his cheeks. "Monsieur, open your eyes. Don't go to sleep yet. Wait for just a little longer." He obeyed, slowly opening his fever clouded blue eyes. Rolling his gaze up, he stared blankly into her face.

"Stay awake, monsieur, I will go and get help," Brielle assured. Shifting her weight she made to stand, but the man shuddered into motion, his hand sliding haltingly across the snow to grip her wrist. Tightening his fingers, he silently begged her not to leave him alone.

Brielle turned her large gray eyes back to his and with a soft smile laid a gentle hand upon his cheek. The man sucked in a breath at her touch. "I promise I will be back shortly. You have my word. I won't leave you."

He gazed up at her dazedly for several moments in silence. The snow falling in the night air behind her head gave her an ethereal glow, yet was the earnestness in her voice rather than her otherworldly appearance which seemed to comfort him. Slowly his eyes fluttered shut and he released her hand. Brielle stood quickly and picking up her skirts she ran off into the snowy night, her voice ringing in the cold air, calling for help.

As her crunching footsteps faded into the distance the mysterious man was left alone in bitter silence. Haltingly the he pulled a white mask out of the confines of the inner pocket of his tattered shirt. With the last of his strength, the man placed the mask over the right side of his face, hiding the deformity that the darkness of the Opera, and the snowy ground had previously concealed. With a sigh the man then passed into blessed unconsciousness.


	8. Memories

Chapter 7: Memories

Erik always knew he would end up condemned to suffer an eternity in hell. Since childhood he had been told nothing else besides the extent and depth of his every fault. First his mother's whispered condemnations, then the Gypsy and his violent tirades filled his mind with the shadowed guilt and anger that would later condense and become a Phantom's fury. Each, in their own way, had forged the man destined for damnation from the innocent boy he once had been. And God, Erik knew, when he had been young and believed in such foolish superstitions, had long since forgotten him; dooming him to a life of misery and suffering. Why should Erik expect his afterlife to be any different? He accepted this as fact.

And yet, even in his darkest moments, Erik had never imagined that the fires of hell could be so agonizing, so absolutely consuming. He felt every fiber of his being permeated with unimaginable heat. An inferno lapped at his body, each burning flicker tightening his skin until it stretched over his thrashing frame like the skin of a drum. Lava-like sweat pooled in the dips and valleys of his body doing nothing to assuage the misery. He was literally burning alive.

But despite the terrible boiling temperature, Erik could not see any flames. He was suspended alone in a sea of darkness more complete than any he had experienced under the Opera. It was crushing, this blackness, more so than any starless night. His darkness destroyed the hope of ever seeing light again. It destroyed even the memory of daylight, making coherent thought impossible.

Erik arched his back as another wave of misery washed over him, his muscles straining and trembling with exhaustion. He gasped and clenched his teeth against the whimper rising in his throat; his fierce pride even now, when his mind was close to flying apart at the seams, unwilling to show weakness. Rallying his courage he fought against the punishing agony, forcing his mind to focus beyond his physical discomfort. He could feel his hands fisting into the soft cloth surrounding him but, as his determination wavered, his mind couldn't seem to wonder as to why it was there in this hellish expanse. Somewhere in the distance a clock was ticking, but it barely registered within his waking nightmare as he fell back into the darkness.

Just when Erik was sure he couldn't stand the pain any longer, another presence made itself known; breaking through the rolling, heated hell with a soft sigh. A cool hand gently reached through the flames and brushed over his burning forehead; the small delicate fingers stroking his face with a completely foreign kind of gentleness. He nearly wept at the small relief, turning his face instinctively toward the mysterious presence. Gradually the tension thrumming through his battered body began to ease; he slumped back onto the feather pillow under his head.

"… now. There, there now. I'm here. Hush, now. I'm…" A soft lilting voice murmured, drifting to him over the waves of heat and darkness, sounding hushed, as if coming from a great distance.

The rolling vowels and blurred consonants of the words blended together correctly in the air, but in his confusion, Erik couldn't quite make out the meaning of each sound. Language, which had always come so easily to him, was now far beyond his comprehension. The voice continued to speak calmly as the hand on his forehead withdrew. Moments later the hand was replaced with a cold wet cloth. Another cloth was placed onto his bare chest. Erik jumped at the shock of the soaked rags then sighed at the reprieve and relaxed against the sheets under him. The small, delicately boned hand found his; cool fingers gently smoothing across his open palm, further calming his shattered mind.

The voice grew silent after some time, its comforting words dwindling into a gradual and seemingly tired quiet. Growing restless in the ensuing silence Erik grimaced and turned his face toward where he thought the voice originated. It felt empty, this stillness, and he was becoming lost in its vastness; sinking ever further into the black pit of his broken heart and fevered mind. Thoughts of Christine sprang up within him like the clawing vines of a blood sucking tropical plant, spearing through his chest and wrapping his heart within their deadly embrace.

He remembered how Christine's eyes, usually so forlorn with grief, lit whenever he spoke through the mirror; how her face glowed with rosy expectation. She had come alive under his tutelage, waiting for hours just to hear him speak, singing as he had taught her, her voice glorifying his name. It had all been for him. Or at least he had thought it had been, but not any longer. He had lost her, and with her had lost every ounce of happiness he had ever possessed.

The ache of what he had lost tightened its hold on his heart until he could hardly catch his breath. It hurt worse than even the burning of his body. This pain sucked him dry down to his very soul, leaving him stark and empty; leaving him without hope of ever feeling anything but this vast and black pain. Every breath hurt, every beat of his hear stung because it meant he had to continue on without her. He could not bear to continue on.

He would never see her face again, never hear her sing. It made him feel as if he were drowning, dying alone and in the dark. _Do not think of her. Do not think of her!_ He silently begged of himself; wishing desperately to be free of this unbearable agony. Moaning audibly Erik jerked his head back and forth in an unsuccessful attempt to shake his former student's beautiful face from his mind, but her sad, doe-like eyes continued to haunt him.

From far away the comforting voice from before ended the silence surrounding him, breaking through the crushing walls of his grief with a few softly hummed notes of an unfamiliar song. Stilling at the sound Erik felt the sheering agony of the broken pieces in his heart ease gradually, no longer piercing his chest with blistering anguish; thoughts of Christine, of her betrayal and his failures, drifted out of his consciousness.

The humming stopped momentarily, as the now warm cloth on his head and chest were replaced with cold ones, then began again; shifting fluidly into a gently lilting lullaby. The words, though he couldn't understand them, moved over Erik like the cooling ripples of a clear watered stream, washing away the hellish heat and bitter feelings. The song held a strange, mystical quality that enthralled his composer's soul, distracting him from his misery. For a few blissful moments he listened to the haunting notes, floating along on the simple melody, his mind remaining thankfully blank. The darkness surrounding him seemed to recede, no longer wrapping about him like a shroud, and for those few stolen seconds he allowed the song to comfort his aching heart.

He blinked his eyes and an unfamiliar room slowly came into focus. An unadorned oil lamp sat on a table next to where he lay, it was lit, though the flame burned low. Dragging his gaze slowly away he became vaguely aware of other objects within the room, a dresser, a scattered assortment of chairs, a fire burning brightly in a hearth. Flinching from the flames he closed his eyes for a moment. He had known there were flames somewhere; seeing them only seemed to make the burning worse.

Another cool cloth was laid across his chest, the singing seeming closer now. Struggling to find the voice's source Erik fought exhaustion and slit open his eyes once more. A hand slid into his open palm that lay limply next to him. He stared at that small hand for a moment then followed it the length of a delicate arm up to a blurry face. Large, steady eyes stared back at him though no other features came into focus.

"Chris..tine?" Erik rasped, his throat feeling as if he had swallowed glass. "Please…Christine…"

The lullaby stopped abruptly and the blurry face drew closer as the young woman leaned forward; her featured slowly becoming clearer. Erik could make out the lines of a mouth and a nose. But he could not look away from her eyes. They held him captive, glimmering in sharp clarity when everything else remained insubstantial. Not Christine's lovely dark eyes at all, but soft and gray as a morning fog.

"No, darling. Not Christine," the voice murmured. Erik grimaced and gripped the hand in his as he felt his grief rush over him. He felt wetness on his face that had nothing to do with the moist cloth on his forehead.

"Hush, my sweet. Hush now… Rest… Just rest awhile. Do not cry," she soothed, her gaze sad now, the gray darkening to the color of rain-wet stone.

"Sleep, sleep, Grá mo chroí. Here on you mamma's knee. Angels are guarding and they watch o'er thee," the song picked up again far, far away. The notes drifted sweetly for a moment but Erik was falling and the fires were fanning ever higher.

His mind began drifting from thought to thought, until it shifted unintentionally through long ignored memories; revisiting sorrow after sorrow as the comforting voice grew distant, continuing to sing from far off into the darkness.

The outline of a woman materialized within his mind. Gradually the fuzzy memory cleared and solidified into the face and figure of someone he recognized, someone he once knew very well but had not thought of in decades, his mother. In his mind's eye he watched the memory of her turn towards him and smile; smile as she had never done in real life. It was beautiful, her smile, lighting up her face with an almost ethereal glow. And for a moment Erik could imagine that that smile was for him; if just for a moment. But reality's ugliness began to slither into his mind as truer memories killed off the dream. Her happiness shifted, and something ugly moved into her eyes.

Erik's mother had been a woman of unusual beauty. Her flashing blue eyes and smooth dark hair always drew attention; and eventually caught the eye of the man who would become Erik's father. His father had supposedly also possessed a handsome face before he died at a young age. They had seemed meant to be together, perfect together. Perhaps that was why Erik himself had been such a disappointment. Had he been born to ugly parents would his life have taken a different road?

It was from his mother that Erik acquired his deep and unquenchable thirst for beauty. He grew up loving all things pleasing to the eye, for it was beauty which always denied his deepest desires. His mother had withheld any sign of human affection. Her glorious face strained whenever she glanced his way. Even with a mask on, she couldn't look at him with anything but simmering disgust, couldn't quite pretend the love he had always yearned for.

Eventually her undisguised disdain had driven him from the only home he had known. Running away he had wandered through the woods for hours, secretly praying all the while that she would come to find him, but of course she never did, leaving him to his fate as she always had.

Eventually he had wandered into the camp of a passing gypsy fair, drawn there by the light and tempting odors of cooking food. They fed him and gave him a place to sleep but the price for these amenities was far beyond his imagination. He had been forced to show his distorted face to crowds of curious onlookers to earn his keep.

He had been only nine when his mother had let him go into the night alone. Damnable, cruel woman. She couldn't have known the hell she had condemned him to for the next five years. Even if she had, Erik doubted it would have changed his fate. His face had been slowly driving the woman mad. She had obsessed over keeping his simple cloth mask firmly in place; checking it twenty times a day towards the end. No, it couldn't have ended any other way.

He shifted, uncomfortable with where his memories were leading him. He could almost feel the rough cloth of his earliest mask pressing against his face. Erik raised a hand slowly and ran his fingers over the smooth leather of his current mask, checking compulsively for its presence. He opened his eyes momentarily when a soft sigh sounded near his left ear. Shocked to see the dim outlines of a semi-familiar room rather than the inky blackness he was growing used to Erik frowned weakly at his surroundings.

He turned his head slightly, fatigued even by that slight motion. A woman was sitting next to the bed her head resting upon the mattress next to his hip. She appeared to be sound asleep. Her long pale hair was loose, fanning out across the sheets by his side. The woman's face was turned towards him her, features glowing rosy in the firelight. The sigh he had heard must have come from her. Her lips were parted slightly still, as if on the verge of another deep exhalation. And yet, she looked terribly exhausted, even in sleep; the dark circles under her eyes and the worried crinkle between her brows giving silent testament to the continuation of some deep care.

Erik wondered for a moment what could be troubling her. She looked so sad that it must be something terrible on her mind. Dimly Erik remembered the soft notes of a lullaby as he watched this woman sleep though he couldn't say why it came to mind.

Staring at the stranger for a more few confusing seconds Erik finally gave up trying to identify her, though something about her face continued to tug at his memories. His muddled mind simply refused to cooperate.

His gaze fell to where the woman's hair lay loose near his hand. It was pale and glimmered like sunlight on snow. He moved his fingers slightly until a lock of it flowed under his touch. The silken feel of her hair sliding under his fingers felt like heaven, and she seemed an Angel. It was then Erik knew with grim certainty that this was a dream sent to torment him. He had never caressed a woman's hair before and never would. He was one of the Damned in hell. Nothing so fine would ever be his to touch. Tiredly, Erik's eyes slid shut. He instantly returned to the dark tomb of his own thoughts.

As heartbreaking as his earliest years had been they, in no way prepared him for his time in the gypsy fair. Those years were the darkest of his young life; never had he been so close to death as he had been at that fair. Daily beatings and poor nutrition had nearly destroyed his young body. Most days he had only eaten what was thrown through the bars of his cage by those that passed by. Most days he hadn't eat anything at all.

The gypsy who had kept him loved only two things in life. He loved gin with a deep and everlasting passion. And he loved the lash. Whether he was throttling boy or beast made no difference to the man. Pain is universal and he had loved to be the cause of it. Even to this day Erik's back bore the marks of his childhood abuse; long, raised white scars crisscrossed his powerful shoulders. It had been a long time since he'd thought about them. He had spent years trying to forget.

Now, it seemed, his fevered mind couldn't let those memories go. The darkness he was floating in faded as gaudy and jarring colors began to bleed into his mind's eye. A terrible smell assaulted his senses. He never could forget that smell, a mixture of rotting food, refuse, and animal manure. It stung the eyes and clenched the gut.

The colors swirling about in his head slowed and finally came to rest in a horrifyingly familiar scene. Before him was the inside of a dirty yellow tent. One flap was tied back slightly, allowing him to see the muddy fair outside. He could almost feel the straw under his feet and the steel bars in his hands. His back stung from remembered lashes.

Erik tensed as his mind relived the pain he had experienced at the hands of the gypsy man. The old scars on his back began to burn at the power of the old memories. He cried out when the familiar hollow, smacking sound of leather meeting flesh echoed within his mind. Thrashing upon the bed, he fought the memory as he never could have fought in reality.

A pair of hands materialized out of his nightmare and pressed down onto his shoulders, partially stilling his frantic struggles. Roaring in rage Erik lashed out blindly at his assailant, the back of one hand making contact with warm flesh. There was a pained gasp and the hands upon him instantly released him. He continued to desperately fight off the shadowed demons of his past despite the hand's retreat. His fingers rose claw-like into the air, his legs tangling within the sheets. The heat, the terrible black, boiling heat, pressed in around him, filling his lungs and searing his skin until he was certain he would die at any moment.

Then a soft voice spoke to him through the fire and blood raging through his mind. Slowly the voice shifted into the sad lilting melody which he vaguely remembered from before. Erik gradually stilled, suddenly exhausted from his wild flailing and calmed by the sweet lullaby floating through the air. He sighed heavily, withdrawing into the confines of his thoughts, leaving his aching body to be soothed by the strange foreign song.

The fever magnified even the dimmest memories into crystal clearness. Many things he didn't want to remember. Some of his worst memories had been born within that Gypsy's tent. There hadn't been a single moment of peace during those horrifying years at the fair. Not a single act of human compassion.

Then, unexpectedly, the faint memory of young, wide eyes staring at him through the bars interrupted his dark thoughts. They stood out within his memory, those lamp-like eyes gazing upon him without a hint of disgust or terror. Fearless, piercing eyes.

Erik's mind tried to focus on the hazy memory but the sound of cascading piano music began to interrupt his rambling thoughts. He frowned as his mind was jarred from his memories back into the waking world. He listened silently to the tinkling notes even as the heat from his fever once again began to burn his entire body.

Erik slowly opened his eyes. He stared up, dazed, at a burgundy velvet canopy hanging directly overhead. Shifting his gaze downwards, he saw that he lay in a large four poster bed that was surrounded on all sides by thick, dark cloth except for a small crack on his left. A column of brilliant sunlight streamed through the opening falling in a horizontal bar across his chest. He winced in automatic reaction to it.

Suddenly a sharp voice called in the distance and the music crashed to a halt, the final note ringing in the air.

"Aria, what did I say about playing so loudly when there is a patient in the house!" a woman called in accented English from somewhere else in the building. Silence followed her question. Then a heated argument broke out between the woman and a deep voiced man.

It was the man who began the fight, his voice hushed but carrying clearly into Erik's room nonetheless. "Bri, you can't honestly expect to keep a stranger in the house. I know that night at the Opera was hard on you but you just can't take care of everyone!"

There was an exaggerated sigh before she replied. "Conner, I did try to place him in one of the hospitals with the other victims but no one would accept him. He was so ill those morons suggested I drive him to the city morgue and wait. I would die before I merely sat back a watched someone pass away. I had to do something."

"You don't know anything about this man Bri! He could be dangerous! What if he wakes up and does something terrible to you or even Aria?" Erik couldn't see the two people as they fought, but he could feel the growing tension as a weighted silence followed the man's last statement.

"You know I would never put Aria in danger," the woman began quietly, her voice even and logical. "He won't be waking up and doing anything for a long time. He must have been down in those cellars for far longer than I was. The smoke caused an infection in his lungs. If he had been taken anywhere else he would have been dead by now."

"That is another issue Brielle. You are killing yourself taking care of this man. You have to sleep sometime. It has been nearly a week now. I don't see how you can even be awake right now." The man's voice softened with worry.

"I know Conner. I promise to rest tonight. I was just compelled to stay up with him because…" She paused at this, suddenly sounding very tired. "Because I didn't think even a stranger deserved to die alone. I am astonished he lived this long. He seems to be in so much pain. And not just from his infection. He has nightmares as well, and calls a name over and over again. It is enough to break my heart."

"Bri your heart is too soft for your own good. What in the world am I to do with you lass? I cannot allow a stranger to be here with you and Aria alone."

"I am afraid Conner that, in this instance, you haven't a say in my actions," Brielle replied, a note of determination cooling her voice. "I understand your worry but I have made up my mind. Please try to understand."

An irritated grunt sounded from the man. "Arguing with you is like banging my head against a brick wall! Do as you please then! Forget I even mentioned it!" The sound of a door slamming in the distance ended the conversation. The household fell into silence.

Erik sighed as his eyes threatened to drift shut. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. Obviously he was no longer in his home, or anywhere within the Opera's cellars. The sunlight had never touched those places. Yet here it streamed in through the curtains surrounding the bed. It had been a long time since he had awoken with the sun in his eyes. He had forgotten how nice it was.

Slowly he turned onto his side, his body surprisingly drained by the simple action. Sliding a hand over the sheets, Erik reached across the mattress, his long fingers brushing the bed curtains. Straining, he hooked the drapes and slowly pulled them aside. The sunlight spread over the dark linens and lit his pale face. As the buttery yellow rays warmed his skin, a small, rapturous smile graced his features. _God it _has_ been a long time. I had forgotten how much I missed it. Simple sunlight…_

For a moment everything else disappeared and Erik was left with the best of himself. He was a man who could take joy in the light, who reveled in it. In that moment the Phantom of the Opera didn't exist. He was simply Erik.

Reluctantly, he released the curtain and slumped back against the down pillows. The drapery slid back into place, casting him in shadow once more. The moment had passed and his more recent memories, though vague, began to filter once again into his thoughts as he tried to piece together how he had come to his current location.

Christine's tear stained face filled his vision. For one terrifying moment Erik feared that the sight of her would bring back the crushing pain of heartbreak. Frantically he hurried to protect himself, shoring up his broken heart with layers of burning anger. As the threat of pain faded Erik felt his heart began to pound with fury, remembering in more detail Christine's betrayal. Despite his love for her, despite his years of teaching her she had left him to rot alone in the darkness. Charming, cruel Christine. He began to shake with the power of his emotions, hatred further infusing the hurt and loneliness. To hate was far simpler than to hurt.

As he lay still upon the bed, his mind raced trying to make sense of the garbled memories assaulting his senses. Erik could see the young Vicomte before him, a noose about his neck. He watched as Raoul struggled against his bonds, the boy's eyes bright with unshed tears. Unexpectedly, he remembered the feeling of Christine's lips upon his own, the softness of the touch slowly growing into a frantic pressure. Though there had been passion, something about the memory was odd. He could still feel her lips trembling against his, not with need but with fear. It had been because of that subtle terror that he had allowed her to go. His love for her could not stomach the thought of forcing her into his embrace forever, and so he had watched her go; staying alone in the darkness he was so familiar with, ready to die.

After Christine left with her boy, Erik's memory faded. He could not recall exactly what had happened. He had fled into the darkness, his heartache making every breath painful, every step a chore. He remembered the smell of smoke and then nothing but a terrible flameless inferno.

Somehow he had managed to flee the Opera, considering his current surroundings. How that had come about was beyond his knowledge. As he furiously tried to drag the memory from his brain, the image of a pale figure leaning over him flitted behind his eyes; but despite his best efforts, he couldn't bring the angelic image into focus.

Erik was once again interrupted from his musings when the door to his room quietly snicked open. He opened his eyes and tensed as a pair of footsteps walked over to the side of his bed. Through the crack in the thick curtains about his bed, he could see the silhouette of a woman setting a tray upon the bedside table. She casually turned and pulled the curtains back.

Erik started and pulled the sheets covering him higher over his bare chest as the curtains snapped open. His other hand instantly flashed up to spread across his accursed face, only to find it safely hidden behind his mask. The woman jumped at his sudden movement her small hand rising to rest over her startled heart. Staring at the stranger with a touch of panic Erik quickly assessed what level of danger she may pose.

Petite in stature, her frame small boned and delicate the young woman vaguely reminded him of Christine, but something barely discernable in the way she held herself put the comparison to a quick end. This woman held her shoulders back and her spine perfectly straight, utilizing every inch of her height and creating an imposing air of calm authority. Shocked by this Erik instantly brought his gaze upward.

The woman's light hair was pulled back into a simple bun; the sun behind her haloing her head in soft yellow light. She shifted slightly, tilted her face to the side, moving out of the sun's direct path, the golden rays leaving her hair not a pale blonde, as was Erik's first impression, but a peculiar shade of snow white. Looking to be somewhere in her mid twenties her features were smooth and perfectly symmetrical, her mouth full lipped and heart shaped, her nose straight and slightly upturned at the end, like the carved face of an ancient Greek sculpture. And in the midst of it all were a pair of large, cool gunmetal gray eyes; which were currently meeting his gaze with an eerie, unblinking calm. These were not the eyes of a young woman, there was no wistfulness or fancy to soften their edges. They were a warrior's eyes, toughened by some past hardship or deep sorrow, watching him as if they could see to the very deepest corners of his soul.

She was strangely beautiful, this woman; looking more like a mystical being born of snow and ice rather than a mortal woman and for a moment Erik was too stunned to move. Then, horrified by his automatic fascination with her appearance, Erik quickly shook himself out of such fanciful thoughts. Narrowing his eyes at the woman, he forced himself to look at her with the lessons Christine had taught him.

He had been wrong moments before. This woman wasn't anything otherworldly or magical; she was merely odd, her paleness strange and foreign, and Erik certainly didn't find her appealing in the least. The inkling of strength he had seen in her stance and expression had merely been an illusion created out of the fog of his mind. She was nothing more than just another vacant-hearted woman. Not a threat at all.

And Erik noticed, without much surprise, that her gray eyes were now pointedly averted away from him, staring instead at her feet. Christine had exhibited the same behavior after first seeing his face, never quite looking him in the eye. He could practically feel the gut clenching rush of shame he had felt then slinking its way through his blood, feel the sharp sting of heartache, and the boiling of impotent fury. Gritting his teeth against the inner onslaught Erik forced the shame aside, and drew the rage closer. The anger he felt for the young soprano easily transferred now to the woman standing before him. He dropped the hand covering his mask back down to his side.

When the woman turned her head to glance awkwardly at the tray she had brought, he recognized her as the woman who had been snooping about the Opera all week. Erik scowled fiercely at the realization. This woman had invaded his Opera house without so much as a by your leave. She had shrugged off his warnings with unbelievable amounts of insolence. In his anger, he conveniently forgot the way she had stared up into the darkness of the Opera's catwalks with fearless eyes, that she had met his gaze just a few moments ago. It had been years since anyone had reacted to him without fear.

Opening his mouth, he snapped at the young lady without a thought to his words. "What is the matter, can you not even bear to look? Your feminine sensibilities must be terribly fragile to prevent you from meeting my gaze even with my mask on."


	9. Fire and Ice

**Hey everyone. I would just like to thank those of you who have been reviewing almost every chapter. It really, really helps to motivate my updates. **

**And I must apologize that the updates this week are slowing down to every two days rather than every other day. Finals are coming up to I will continue to be a little slow over the next two weeks. Studying is kicking my butt. Though I will try to update at least three times a week still. **

**Oh and just a note to make sure there is no confusion. Brielle does not recognize Erik from the theater. When he was singing he was far enough away, and masked, that she wouldn't know it was him up on the stage. He has seen her but she has never seen him. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own the Phantom characters. But I do own everyone else!**

Chapter 9: Fire and Ice

Brielle walked quickly across what had formerly been her room and set the heavy tray she was balancing upon the bedside table. The argument she had just finished with her brother weighed terribly on her mind.

Since they were young Conner had always tried to shield her as best he could. Now that they were both grown, the old habit to protect had not faded within him. _I should not have been so short with him. He is only thinking of my welfare. If only he didn't have to be so irritating!_

She sighed, shaking her head as she turned and pulled back the bedside curtain quietly. Brielle jumped when the man upon the bed pulled the sheets tighter about his body. She hadn't expected him to wake so soon.

Over the past week she had cared for the stranger day and night, nursing him through the infection which had been wreaking havoc upon his body. During that time he had never regained full consciousness.

He had been trapped in a world of nightmares and memories, calling out in the night for mercy from some unknown evil. Brielle had stayed by his side all the while, praying that he would not die in such pain. She put every ounce of her medical knowledge to work, but none of it appeared to help in the slightest. It was only when she held his hand or wiped his burning forehead that he knew any peace. Like a child he was soothed by her touch and softly spun lullabies.

Now the man was fully awake, his eyes burning with an intensity she had never seen before. _He has blue eyes,_ she thought absently as her gaze flickered to his bare chest. A faint blush bloomed in her cheeks in response to her wandering eyes. _What is the matter with me? I have been looking at him all week. Nothing is different._

Brielle turned her gaze instantly from his form so as not to embarrass herself by staring at the stranger. She missed the fact that her action sparked a dark scowl to slide over his features.

When he suddenly spoke, the deep timbre of his voice sent shivers down Brielle's spine. "What is the matter, can you not even bear to look? Your feminine sensibilities must be terribly fragile to prevent you from meeting my gaze even with my mask on."

Her eyes instantly shot to his at his words. An angry scowl crossed over his face as he waited for her reaction.

The open, almost friendly expression upon her face instantly shut down. It was as if a curtain fell shut behind her eyes, turning them into frozen pools within a stony face. Brielle raised her chin haughtily, her hands instinctively fisting upon her hips. She made a point of staring the ill mannered man right in the eye unblinkingly.

"Is it a French custom to insult your host before even being introduced to them?" she asked icily. Apparently her calm and biting words were not what the stranger had been expecting, for the annoyed expression upon his face transformed into one of surprise.

Without missing a beat Brielle continued. "I had hoped your horrible manners were due to your illness Monsieur. However, it appears as if you are naturally a brute." The man's mouth fell open in outrage at her comment; he didn't seem to know how to react to her.

"And if you must know I averted my eyes to protect your modesty, monsieur. You _are_ naked as the day you were born under that sheet." She turned and picked up a thermometer from the tray she had carried in, as the stranger stared at her in disbelief before quickly pulling up the sheet to check her words.

"Please open your mouth. I need to check your temperature," she said calmly, leaning forwards with the thermometer held at the ready.

Erik balked at her advance, his face flushing bright pink. He held out a hand to keep Brielle at arm's length as he pulled the blankets up higher about his bare torso. He had never been in such a state of undress in front of a woman before. His mind was reeling from that fact.

"Keep away from me wretched woman!" he hissed, angry at himself for the blush heating his cheeks.

"Do not fret, monsieur, you have nothing I haven't seen before." Somehow these words didn't appear to make the man feel any better.

"What sort of household raised such an unladylike wisp of a girl? Never have I met a woman with less feminine modesty," he blustered as his arm tired and fell to his side.

Brielle straightened her spine and fixed Erik with an intimidating glare. "My raising was an excellent one monsieur. And I thank you for your compliment."

"It wasn't a compliment!" he sputtered, not quite knowing what else to say. His voice was quickly rising to dangerous levels.

"But of course it was. I have always wished I were born a boy. Men are allowed to do whatever they please. Be that to go to medical school or wander about the cellars of an Opera and then insult the young ladies who saved them. Now will you open your mouth and take this thermometer, or will I be forced to use another orifice to get your temperature?" Brielle raised her powder white eyebrows pointedly and with a malicious smile she tapped the thermometer against her palm.

Stubbornly, Erik kept his mouth firmly clamped shut, glaring fiercely at the vexing woman standing next to him. A muscle in his left cheek began to twitch as their battle of wills stretched on silently for several moments. He didn't think this tiny girl would follow through on her empty threats. _She may have been used to bullying her brother but she isn't going to bully me._

Bri shrugged and hooked a knee over the side of the bed. "Alright then, boyo. Flip yourself over and we can do this the hard way!"

Erik's mouth gaped open at her plucky disregard for all things proper. Brielle instantly shoved the thermometer into the man's open mouth. Closing his slack jaw with one finger, she looked down at her pocket watch, carefully monitoring the second hand till it was time to take the instrument out.

Glancing quickly at the irate man whose mouth she was currently holding shut, Brielle couldn't help but let a smile slip past her icy defenses. "I wouldn't have really done anything so horrible. I just needed you to open your mouth long enough for me to get an accurate temperature."

The man's eyes blazed with white hot fury at her words. He raised a shaking hand and grabbed hold of her delicate wrist in an iron grip.

"How _dare_ you…" he growled, his voice shaking with rage. The thermometer nearly tumbled from his tight lipped mouth.

The smile slowly faded from Brielle's face, her frigid guards glazing over her face once more. The black bruise over her eye grew ever more prominent as the color drained from her smiling cheeks.

"Release me boyo," she ordered quietly. "I can stand your snotty mouth but I will not put up with any violence. So either let go immediately or I will show you exactly what an Irish temper entails."

A tense moment followed her words as the two squared off, their eyes boring into each other's gaze. Her's sharp as a winter's day, his glowing with blistering hot intensity.

Finally Erik remembered himself through his temper and released the girl. Never in his life had he raised a hand to a woman. This girl would not be an exception. A brute he may be at times but he was not a monster.

In response she reached forwards and snatched the thermometer from his mouth. Glancing at it quickly she stepped back from the bed.

"Congratulations, your fever has broken." Brielle murmured casually as she turned and placed the tiny instrument onto the bedside table. Her calm exterior indicated that the friction of the previous moment was already forgotten. But her razor edged eyes betrayed her annoyance.

Hefting the tray onto one hand, Brielle turned from the dazed man and slowly made her way towards the door.

"You should get some rest now monsieur. It is important you do not wear yourself out before you are fully recovered."

"You cannot expect for me to stay here," Erik spat at her retreating back.

Brielle turned at his words, a disturbingly pleasant smile taking hold of her features. "No one will stop you monsieur. You are welcome to leave as soon as you can walk out the front door."

"Then I will leave immediately! Give back the clothing your have stolen from me!"

"I stole nothing, you silly man. Your clothes are folded atop the dresser. Good luck trying to get them on."

Once more she turned from him, flicking her gleaming white braid back over her shoulder. Brielle listened as the infuriating man struggled to sit up. She hesitated at the door.

"By the way…" she began slowly, "what is your name?"

Erik stared at her flabbergasted, all thoughts of escaping vanished within his mind. Hardly anyone in his entire lifetime had asked him his name. Most merely referred to him as the Opera Ghost. Most never cared. This girl didn't seem to know the rules which had always dictated his life.

"Erik…" he murmured, his confused blue eyes avoiding her gaze. Clearing his throat he began again, louder this time. "My name is Erik."

Brielle nodded, her eyes softening despite her cool expression. "A pleasure to meet you, Erik. My name is Brielle. Can I write to your family so they do not worry about you?"

Falling back against his pillows exhausted Erik turned his head away from the girl and scowled. "There is no one in this damnable world that would worry about me. So save your ink and your maddening sympathy for some one else."

For a moment Brielle hesitated at the door. Though Erik's words were meant to be cruel, she could only hear the agonizing sorrow hidden within his statement. Though his expression was as hard as the mask covering half his face, she saw the emptiness in his tired eyes.

"You look tired," she said serenely. Taking care not to allow her voice to betray what she saw behind the man's defenses.

"Rest now. If you need anything I will be in the next room. You need only to call out and I will hear you. Sweet dreams, Erik."

And with that Brielle turned and vacated the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Erik was left to stew over the infuriating encounter.

Slowly, despite his burning anger, Erik's eyes drooped shut. With a sigh he settled back into his pillows and slipped into a surprisingly uneventful dream, Brielle's voice echoing within his mind. _Sweet dreams, Erik. Sweet dreams…_


	10. Crying Over Spilled Milk

**Ah I can't believe it has been like a week since I last updated! I am sorry for that! Can you believe I completely forgot to?!**

**Anyway here is the next chapter. Feel free to review or email. I will post the next chapter much sooner than I did this one. Hope you all enjoy it.**

Chapter 10: Crying Over Spilled Milk

The next morning dawned cold and dark. Deep boiling clouds rolled across the sky, casting the world beneath into disheartening gray shadows. The wind howled and battered against the window panes, rattling them within their frames, the horrible sound reverberating throughout the entire house. Snow whirled madly upon the gushing wind, concealing the world beyond the frosted windows.

Drowsily, Brielle sat up when the window in her room blew open, banging against the side of the house with a crash. With a growl the girl clambered over the tiny ebony haired body lying next to her and rushed to shut the gaping window.

As she strained to reach the swinging glass panels, the wind tore straight through her thin cotton nightdress, chilling her to the bone. Snow fell upon the top of her mussed hair, bejeweling her head with tiny drops of sparkling water. With a quiet curse Brielle hung halfway out the window before finally snatching the latch and jerking the glass shut. Firmly she slammed the lock in place, wrapping her arms securely about her body.

Hopping from foot to foot to warm herself, Brielle made her way back to the bed. Sitting on its edge she laid a tender hand upon the dark head of the child still sleeping there. The little girl sighed in her sleep and turned over, placing a chubby thumb into her mouth.

Brielle smiled and brushed a finger over the toddler's babyish cheeks before standing and walking over to the closet. She opened the doors and sighed at the contents. Being a practical woman she no longer wore the bright colors and frills as she had when she was young. The volunteer work she did at the local veteran's hospital was no place for lace and pearls. _God being practical is so boring sometimes. Not like there is anyone I need to impress. But still…_

Pulling out a plain navy blue jacket and matching skirt, she silently laid them across the back of a chair. She pulled her nightgown over her head and donned a clean chemise. Brielle grimaced as she wrapped the corset about her waist and snapped it up the front. Only women with ladies maids owned corsets that laced up the back, and Brielle certainly had no time to be wasting on such foolishness, though her late husband's family fortunes could easily have afforded the luxury.

However, it had been decided years ago that she would have to live outside the bubble which wealth created when the mighty Donovans did not approve of her for their youngest son. Even after John had died Lord and Lady Donovan had refused to assist their grieving and pregnant daughter-in-law. Only John's older brother Andrew had stood by her. Offering her a place to live and using his connections to ensure her safety. If it hadn't been for him she would have been destitute and a burden to Conner.

Now she was settled into a comfortable lifestyle, filled with satisfaction which would never have been proper for the wife of a wealthy English nobleman. Brielle had a well appointed home, a satisfying job, and a loving family life. She had everything a young widow could hope for…everything.

Quickly pulling on a white blouse along with the skirt and jacket, she walked to the door and quietly left the room. Brushing her fingers through her hair, she wove the strands into a loose braid.

"What a depressing sort of a day," Brielle mumbled to herself as she passed by a window.

Shaking her head, she strolled into the kitchen and placed the tea kettle on the stove to boil.

She had never been a domestic genius; her cooking skills had once been nonexistent. Her father had not raised her in an environment which called for much femininity. In fact, he had treated her more like a son than a daughter, furthering her education far beyond the norm and allowing her to accompany him to work. Yet her perfectionist personality called for excellence despite her absolute disinterest in the subject, no matter the venue. Brielle had spent countless hours sweating over lumpy gravy and burnt pies when she was younger. Eventually the result was a passable skill in the kitchen, if not a laudable one. Either way she would rather clean an infected wound than bake a cake.

The results of that morning's efforts were a sweetened porridge and sliced fruit; and it had only taken an hour and a half. Brielle counted herself lucky she hadn't set anything on fire. Setting the porridge pot off the heat she dipped a small bowlful and placed some of the fruit onto a breakfast tray.

Carefully picking up the tray, Brielle made her way out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the door of what had, until recently, been her bedroom. She hesitated at the door, one ear cocked and listening for any movement from inside.

The room was silent and had been so throughout the night, allowing Brielle to enjoy her first night of uninterrupted sleep in over a week. Sleeping in a bed was a heavenly experience after a week of dozing in an uncomfortable wing backed chair. She had removed herself from the stranger's room now that he had regained consciousness. It would have been entirely improper had she stayed; that, and she wasn't entirely sure she could have slept well knowing he could open those amazing eyes at any moment and glare at her. For some unexplainable reason, he made her painfully aware of her own actions. In the short time she had conversed with him his eyes had burned right through her, making her natural shyness multiply tenfold. It was infuriating.

Shifting the tray to rest against one hip, Brielle raised a fist and knocked upon the door. She waited a moment then knocked again. With a shrug she swung the door open and walked into the room. She barely took two steps before nearly tripping over Erik's prone form.

Hastily tossing the tray onto the nearby dresser Brielle knelt by Erik's side, her hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades. _He has very nice shoulders… _A blush instantly bloomed in her cheeks at the errant thought, though she was careful not to show her embarrassment.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

Erik turned his head and glared up at her face through the eye hole in his mask. Shrugging his shoulders he threw off her touch. "I was merely attempting to flee this accursed place. I didn't realize until I was halfway to the door that it would take me a week to even get out of the house."

Brielle rolled her eyes at his nasty grumbling and reached to pull the sheet he had been dragging with him up farther over his hips. She very nearly had an eyeful of the man's backend before her discrete action sufficiently covered him.

"A good morning to you too Erik." Brielle chirped cheerfully, knowing it would irritate him. "Come now, let's try and get you to your feet."

With a tired sigh, the dark haired man acquiesced to her request and didn't fight her as she struggled to pull him to his feet. Brielle knew his pride was suffering for his body's weakness. What man would wish to be carried about by a woman? With this in mind she made it a point to chatter about the weather in an attempt to distract him from his current situation.

The pair made it all the way to the bed before the subject of the winter storm grew thin. Erik slumped into the pillows gratefully as Brielle tucked the blankets firmly about him.

"That is better now." Turning, she walked across the room to retrieve the breakfast tray.

"I made you a bit of breakfast. You haven't eaten a crumb since you came here so you must be hungry. It is only porridge, unfortunately, I didn't want to upset your stomach."

The shadow of a smile flickered across her face as she attempted to be friendly once again. Even the small crack in her chilly persona made her acutely uncomfortable. The man simply made her jumpy. _I haven't felt so oddly around a single man since I met my husband._ The thought made her forget her embarrassment and recover what was left of her composure; old sorrow was a powerful sentiment.

Erik simply glared at her. "I am not hungry," he grumped.

"Surely you jest. You haven't eaten in a week!" Brielle exclaimed as she picked up the porridge bowl and sat on the edge of the bed.

Temper immediately transformed Erik's face at her disregard for his words. Too often had a beautiful woman ignored his wishes, ignored him. Brielle, though the physical antithesis of Christine with her pale coloring, was an easy outlet for the agony of his broken heart.

"I said I wasn't hungry!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs, flinging out a hand and knocking the bowl from her hands. The porridge splattered across her clean skirts when the bowl turned over into her lap.

A moment of shocked silence followed his hasty action. Brielle raised a hand to cover her gaping mouth as she stared down at the mess now covering her clothing. Erik took a breath to continue his tirade but the unexpected hurt in her normally calm eyes stayed his words.

He had not thought before he struck out, his temper and emotional anguish dictating his actions. But now as Brielle's wide eyes grew bright with frustrated tears, a sneaking twinge of guilt curled within the pit of his stomach. Her cool demeanor was deceiving; under the layers of serenity she was a tired young girl. Her exhaustion was making her emotional.

Erik opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Brielle silently rose from the edge of the bed clasping the porcelain bowl in a white knuckled grip.

She stood rigidly, her eyes blinking back tears, a slight tremble visible in her bottom lip. Several seconds passed before the shock began to wear off, the change in her features frighteningly drastic.

Slowly a furious red flush climbed up her pale throat, staining her cheeks a vivid crimson. The hurt in her eyes disappeared like a shadow in sunlight but unexpectedly the ice did not freeze her features into a mask of calm. Instead, raw, unadulterated fury fired her eyes into molten steel. She had officially lost her temper.

Brielle slowly turned those burning eyes to the man lying upon the bed. At her sides, both her hands balled into fists as her gaze skimmed over his wary features. In one fluid movement she turned and slammed the bowl back onto the waiting tray. The force of her movements rocking the small end table until Erik was sure it would break apart.

Whirling about, Brielle took one threatening step towards the bed her lips drawing back from her teeth with a growl. "You…you…wool headed lummox…flea bitten son of a bitch! How dare you, monsieur, treating me so horribly. What gives you the right to lay there and curse my every action when all I have done since meeting you was treat you with the utmost respect? I have put up with your pouting and your waspish lip, I have gone days without sleep only to be treated worse than an animal. I even suffered through your fever induced violence without one word of complaint!" she finished, gesturing wildly at the bruise covering her one eye. _I worked for over an hour on that damned porridge!_

As the words poured out of her mouth, the level of her voice rose to a shout, her lilting accent blurring her speech with agitation.

"No good deed goes unpunished, so from now on I will no longer act as your whipping boy!" she growled, leaning forwards and stabbing Erik in the chest with one finger.

"Take one step out of line, utter one unsavory word and you will receive just what you deserve! A good boot in the behind!"

Turning on her heel, she stormed across the room and out the door, slamming it behind her so hard that several pictures jumped off the wall and smashed to the ground. Erik was left dazed in the wake of her fury. Her temper was completely unexpected, due to her normally calm demeanor. _Still waters run deep…_

Brielle swept through the house, her braid swinging wildly at her every step. Her heart was still racing with the anger coursing through her veins. _I can't believe I blew up like that. I haven't gotten so angry in years! But sure if that man didn't deserve it! I have never met a more aggravating human being than him… _Slowing her steps, she opened the door to the room she was temporarily using. She closed it quietly behind her and made a beeline to the closet to don a clean outfit. She hadn't even begun to undress when a sleepy childish voice broke the early morning silence.

"M-Momma, who were y-you y-yelling at?" The question was spoken with clear but stuttering English.

Turning from the closet, Brielle's tight lipped expression melted into an affectionate smile when her eyes fell upon the child just then sitting up on the bed. The little girl's smooth black hair was sticking up at odd angles and her cherub cheeks were still rosy from sleep.

"I am sorry I woke you, love. Momma wasn't yelling at anyone." The little girl stared at Brielle with surprisingly incredulous gray eyes. She was incredibly sharp, despite being the tender age of three and a half.

"Were y-you s-shouting at the s-sleeping man?" the child asked as she tumbled out of bed and trotted over to her mother, her thumb rising to her mouth.

Brielle huffed as she removed her dirty jacket and skirt. "Aria, how many times did I ask you not to go into Momma's old room?"

"Lots," Aria mumbled around her thumb as she rubbed at her still sleepy eyes. "B-But I didn't go in…"

"Oh you didn't did you? Then how do know about 'the sleeping man'?" Brielle asked as she pulled out a warm gray cotton dress.

"I d-dreamed about him last n-night," the toddler said as she popped her thumb out of her mouth. "Can I w-wear my pink d-dress today?"

Brielle froze in the middle of buttoning up the front of her dress. "What do you mean, love?"

Aria flashed a wide smile, showing off the hole where she had recently lost a tooth. "I f-forget," she said absently as she grabbed hold of Brielle's skirts and swished them back and forth. "M-May I please w-wear the pink dress!" she whined, having already grown bored with current conversation.

With a sigh Brielle nodded, eliciting an ecstatic squeal from her daughter. Aria ran over to her dresser and pulled a drawer open, taking the dress out and pulling it clumsily over her head. Quickly, Brielle captured the struggling child and helped pull her tiny arms through the correct holes with a practiced ease.

"M-may I play on the p-piano today?" Aria asked as she spun about the room, watching her frilly skirt twirl about her knees.

"Yes, but please wait until after lunch," Brielle said absently, walking towards the door as she finished buttoning her dress.

"M-May I go and s-say hello to the sleeping m-man?" the little girl asked coyly, having waited till Brielle was distracted by her buttons before asking.

"Ye…No! No you may not! He is a mean, mean man. You wouldn't like him at all," Brielle stated firmly, a bit of her earlier anger creeping back into her voice.

Aria pouted in silence, her dark brows drawing down dramatically over her large gray eyes. "B-but you told m-me to be nice to everyone!"

"We can make an exception in this case. Arianna, stop testing me on this. I already said no!"

"B-but he is v-very sad M-Momma. Like y-you are about P-Poppa. M-Maybe that is w-why he is m-mean!"

Brielle froze in her tracks and turned slowly to stare down at her daughter as the little girl skipped ahead of her into the kitchen. Her daughter had always had an innate sense about certain situations or people, but as the years had passed, her random instances of insight had grown more and more frequent. Aria may possess her late father's coloring but it was becoming apparent that she was most definitely her mother's daughter.

"In any case he is a nasty person and momma might have to yell at him some more. So you still are not allowed to go and bother him, Aria."

"Okaaay!" Aria sang out, her attention now fixed upon the pieces of apple on the counter.

Unfortunately, Brielle did not share her daughter's amazing talent to forgive and forget. She instead had the ability to hold tenaciously onto a grudge for years. As she sat and watched Aria munch down her breakfast, Brielle stewed over Erik's earlier actions. _Sad my butt…I can recognize a brute when I see one. And until he apologizes I will treat him with as much respect as he has been giving to me!_


	11. To Forgive and Forget

**Hurray Finals are over! Which means better update times. Thanks for all the nice reviews. I always enjoy hearing from those who are reading my story. But anyway enjoy the chapter. **

**Disclaimer: It is sad but I don't own the Phantom characters. Everyone else I do own! YAY!**

Chapter 11: To Forgive and Forget

A week dragged by with excruciating sluggishness. Erik had never been more bored in his entire life. Even in the early days under the Opera, before he established the legend of the Phantom, he had found ways to entertain himself. Yet this place, though far more comfortable than the theater's cellars, was driving him into madness. Day and night the only things he had to occupy his mind were the comforts of his own thoughts. Which, as it turned out, were no comfort at all.

The days had settled into an uncomfortable routine. Brielle would appear at meal time to deposit a tray of food, only to immediately take her leave of him. An hour later, on the dot, she would return and remove the dishes. Never once in the seven days since he had struck out at her had she spoken a single word to him. Yet when he had warily requested some clothing, she had brought a pair of clean trousers and a plain cotton shirt at his next meal. She was good to him despite her anger.

Her face had not once betrayed the fury she obviously had been nursing. She was as expressive as a statue and cold as stone. The return of her icy façade was distressing; despite himself he missed her shy smiles. A fact which infuriated him, of course.

Her silence fed his ever growing guilt. It had taken him days to realize the atrocity of his actions, yet, he could not bring himself to openly speak of the issue. Something about the hurt he had seen in her eyes silenced any words he might have said. He had never apologized to another human being in all his years upon the Earth; now that one was required of him he had no idea as to how to go about it. Everything he thought of as he lay in bed seemed trivial when compared to the tears almost shed over his cruelty.

Worse yet than the curses and scathing remarks he had hurled at the young girl were his violent outbursts. More violent than he had known. In her temper Brielle had revealed that he had not only struck out with words, but with his fist as well. She had the black eye to prove her accusations, which he was sure would never have been mentioned if she had not lost her cool.

Over the week he had come to realize she was too good to intentionally lay that kind of guilt at his feet. With nothing else to occupy himself, he had resorted to observing his hostess with an intense scrutiny. He had learned by his surveillance many of her oddities.

She hid her emotions behind serene features to protect herself, yet he had come to see that Brielle was far from a calm creature. Her tempers were biting, her joys absolute. Often he had heard her laughter ringing down the hallways, as well as her outraged bellows. But odder still were the bashful tendencies to which she was prone. It came at strange times, her shyness, and often appearing when in his presence. It betrayed just how vulnerable she really was. Which made his violence towards her all the more horrifying.

Oh, and how he did feel the guilt of his actions. He had struck a woman; despite the fact he had been out of his mind with the fever at the time, he still felt sick with the knowledge. True he had spent his life blackmailing and terrorizing all those who had lived within the Paris Opera house, but it had never been personal. If anything it was business and no one had ever gotten hurt.

At least it had been business until he had been blinded by love. Love for Christine and for her angelic voice - and even then it had never been his intention to harm anyone, everything had just gone terribly wrong. God how he still missed her, despite her betrayal and the unintentional brutality of her flight from the Opera. _Stop it! Do not think of her anymore. She left you to die alone in the darkness. Do not let her poison your mind any longer!_

Erik sighed and turned onto his side, his eyes moving to stare out the window at the snow draped landscape outside. By the level of the sun he could tell it was early afternoon, but the day already seemed to have lasted an eternity. He didn't know if he could withstand another hour of confinement with his own thoughts. Every time he thought of Christine his heart broke all over again. The week had not served to dull the pain. Even the tinkling of exquisite piano music from elsewhere in the house could no longer distract him from his brooding thoughts.

The monotony was slowly weaving cobwebs within his brain, just as a solitary spider was in the corner of the room. Erik could feel himself growing more sluggish every day he had nothing with which to occupy his powerful intellect. Despite the extent of his guilt, it was the boredom which drove him towards an apology.

Sitting up in bed, Erik turned his thoughts away from the Opera and what had happened two weeks ago towards a way to solve his immediate problem. _Surely an apology cannot be too difficult,_ he thought sourly as his brows drew down in concentration. _After all she is a woman. I am sure I can convince her that I had no intention of spilling that damned bowl._ He pursed his lips as he considered several possible ways to word his apology.

Erik's thoughts were interrupted when the door to his room slowly swung open. The absence of the usual polite knock slightly startled him. Brielle had made a point of always knocking before she entered. He was unable to see who had come into the room due to the thick drapery at the end of the bed, but the sound of light pattering footsteps could be heard crossing the room.

The footsteps slowed as they reached the foot of the bed and then grew silent; it sounded almost as if the person were tiptoeing around the end of the bed. Erik was quite sure Brielle was not the kind of woman to tiptoe, so the natural conclusion was that a stranger had entered his room. This fact instantly set him on edge.

Brielle had treated the oddity of his mask as a simple fact. She had never appeared to notice it, let alone ask about it. What could he say - the girl was odd. Yet he doubted a stranger would be as understanding. The possibility that he would have to put up with some moron's gawking sent him into a rage. Erik's entire body tensed between the sheets.

His shoulder muscles strained under his borrowed cotton shirt as he listened to the soft footsteps round the corner of the bed. A moment passed as his eyes scanned the room for the intruder. Yet, no one appeared. With a whoosh he let out a relieved breath. _I must be going mad after all, _he thought absently as he let his eyes slide shut with relief, his head leaning back against the headboard.

Erik had just begun to turn his thoughts back towards his dreaded apology when he distinctly felt a weight buckle the mattress on the opposite side of the bed. His eyes snapped open and with a gasp he jerked away from the new presence, nearly falling clean out of the bed.

He had barely begun to right himself when the delirious giggling of a child punctuated the silence of the house. His mouth fell open in astonishment when he caught sight of the little girl now perched on the edge of the bed. The child had shoulder length straight black hair tied up with a green ribbon and large, beguiling gray eyes. Somehow, her features were strangely familiar. _She is almost the mirror image of Brielle._

The pair stared at each other in silence for several moments, Erik too shocked to speak and the child too busy scrutinizing his face. He waited for the moment when the toddler's face would contort in fright at his mask; children were the most open with their emotions. Children held no compunctions about throwing insults; they were the most honest and cruel faction of humanity. Yet the moment he dreaded didn't come. The little girl merely sat grinning at him.

With a fierce frown darkening his features, Erik finally found his voice. "Who the hell…" He ground to a halt, feeling odd cursing in front of the babe. "Er, rather, who are you? What do you want?"

The child stared at him in confusion, picking nervously at the bed linens. "Y-You talk funnier t-than daddy's family does. And t-they are f-from England." She said in stuttering English before raising a thumb to her mouth. His frown didn't appear to be having any effect on the girl whatsoever. _Damned if she isn't as irritating as Brielle._

Erik repeated his question in fluent, if slightly accented, English. At his words the child's grin widened about the thumb in her mouth. "M-My name is Arianna Donovan. I u-used to l-live in Ireland b-but Momma hates daddy's snobby family so now we l-live here. Where are you from? Y-You have a pretty v-voice. Y-you still t-talk funny though."

Taking a breath, Aria barreled on. "Momma said I wasn't s-supposed to c-come in here, and if she c-catches me I bet I w-won't get no desert. A-Are you really mean? That is what M-Momma says." With that final statement Aria fell silent, patiently waiting for an answer to the multitude of questions she had been able to pose with two breaths.

_Do all children blather on so? Or is this one just special?_ Erik thought, thoroughly astonished at the girl's penchant for words. He hardly knew how to respond.

"If you are not supposed to be in here then should you not leave immediately? And yes I am horribly mean. Your mother is correct in warning you."

Aria merely stared at him, incredulous, once again ignoring the scowl upon his face. "Y-you don't look so mean," she stated, scooting closer to him over the sheets. At her advance Erik drew back, pulling the linens up further over his chest.

"Looks can be deceiving," he growled.

Giggling, Aria drew back until her back end hung off the edge of the bed. Her legs dangled several moments until her toes found the floor and she took off across the room. "Y-you are a funny m-man!" she screeched with delight. "But I h-have to go n-now or I'll b-be caught! M-momma is calling m-me!"

Flabbergasted, Erik shook his head at the retreating toddler. "I don't hear anything," he said absently just before the sound of Brielle's voice cut through the silence of the house. _How did she know…Wait a second…_Brielle _is her mother?_

The child disappeared through the doorway, leaving the door slightly ajar. The sound of her stocking covered feet faded down the hall. Moments later, the familiar clicking of Brielle's low heeled boots came hurrying to his door. A knock sounded before the young woman burst into the room, her gray eyes quickly scanning the space before settling on Erik.

"By any chance have you seen a little girl run through here? For some reason she is finding it funny to hide from me today. Who would have thought the word 'bath' could make children disappear!" With a huff Brielle ran a hand through her hair, pulling some of the strands free from their braid. At Erik's startled look she quickly dropped her hand to her side, clearing her throat.

The moment Brielle had entered his room Erik's heart had leapt up into his throat. Her presence only served to remind him that he was required to come up with an apology, and quickly. At least that is what he told himself was the reason for his odd reaction.

"Uh, no I haven't seen a child today," Erik replied hastily, mysteriously covering for the little girl who had been to visit. Brielle didn't seem convinced, seeing as she bent down to glance under the bed as he lied to her. _Damn if that woman can't read my mind. _

"Look here boyo," Brielle began, her irritation coloring her cheeks. "I have been chasing that little demon about the house for over an hour now. And if I don't lay hands upon her soon I won't have time to finish dinner, which means you are going to go hungry tonight!" She took a threatening step towards the bed. "So you better fess up immediately or it will be prisoner rations for you!"

"Ohhh, you were talking about the little dark haired child who was just in here? Well then, yes she came for a visit but left just before you arrived," Erik consented easily, a surprisingly amused expression gracing his handsome features. He couldn't help but silently laugh at Brielle's exasperated appearance. His nervousness over his pending apology fled in front of Brielle's frustration.

With a growl Brielle whirled to stalk out of the room but Erik's voice stopped her. "Wait a moment I have something I wish to say," he began, sitting up straight on the bed. "I have been thinking about the subject for some time now, and I believe this would be a good time to discuss the issue."

"Oh now is a good time for you is it?" she asked pleasantly as she turned back towards the bed, her arms crossing over her chest.

"Well yes. You are here now. And since what I have to say involves you, it is a good time." Erik said hurriedly, the nervousness returning to curl within the pit of his stomach as Brielle turned her attention back to him. He completely missed the unmasked annoyance upon her face.

He cleared his throat before continuing. "Now I am not a man used to asking for anything. So in a way you should be happy about what I am about to ask of you." Erik pursed his lips in concentration, his dark brow drawing low. "I am not totally blind to the fact that you have been taking very good care of me these past weeks." He stopped then, having no idea how to continue.

Rolling her eyes skywards, Brielle prayed for patience when Erik paused in his prattling, obviously skirting the issue. Erik's ego was like none she had ever encountered before.

"To get to the point," he continued, raising his eyes to her face. "I have been thinking over the incident with the porridge bowl last week and I just wanted to impart to you that I really had no intention to knock the bowl from your hands. It was an accident, so I ask you to try and put the incident from your mind, " he finished, believing his part was complete. Erik was shocked to discover Brielle did not seem all that moved by his efforts to apologize.

"Well that was the poorest excuse for an apology I have ever had the misfortune to hear. You act like I should be grateful to you for even taking a stab at saying you are sorry."

That was not the reaction Erik had been hoping to hear. "Well excuse me! I wasn't aware you had such high standards. It should be enough that I tried, I told you I wasn't used to asking for anything!" he sputtered in outrage.

Brielle merely fisted her hands upon her hips, girding herself for battle. "It should be obvious that my standards are in fact low. After all I let _you_ into the house didn't I! And I never said you had to be _good_ at apologizing, just that you apologize. So far you haven't done so."

"What do you think I was just doing! I said I didn't intend to dump that porridge on you!" he roared, struggling free from the sheets and clambering to his feet.

"Yes, and the road to hell is paved with good intentions. It is our actions which speak the loudest of our character. And your character so far has proved lacking! You have behaved appallingly but at least act like an adult and admit it!" she shot right back at him, her features only barely holding onto the calm façade she was affecting.

"I will admit nothing of the sort! After all if you had just paid attention to my wishes in the first place, that bowl never would have been upset!"

Brielle advanced across the room until she stood mere inches from Erik where he leaned against the bed post. Her face turned up towards his, her eyes flashing and her chest heaving in agitation.

"So it is my fault is it then?" she hissed, raising a finger to wave about in his face.

"Waspish, bull headed…witch of a woman!"

"Of all the arrogant, egotistical…pig headed…"

"Ha! And is it not usually the woman's fault! Did not Eve seduce Adam with the fruit of knowledge!" he growled, batting her finger away from his face.

"Oh and isn't it just like a man to quote the Bible when it suits him! Now you listen to me and you listen hard," she ground out through clenched teeth, her accent nearly tilting her French beyond recognition. "Do not try and convince me that apologizing is so monumental a task that you cannot manage it! It is your pride which stops you, not the apology itself! And until you do apologize I will be a thorn in your side every waking moment!"

"This is what I get for trying to act the gentleman! I get a hysterical woman screaming insults at the top of her lungs and…."

"OHH! JUST SAY YOU ARE SORRY!" she screamed, pulling at her hair with both hands.

"FINNE! I AM SORRY!" he bellowed back into her face, his eyes hot enough to cause the sun to break out in a sweat.

They both fell silent then, each glaring at the other with enough intensity to burn a hole through steel. Slowly Brielle began to relax, her breath coming slower and her eyes cooling to calmer temperatures. When a radiant smile lit up her features, Erik could only stare at her, stunned.

"Now that wasn't so hard was it? Next time perhaps we can skip the boxing match and merely go straight to the apology."

"You provoked me on purpose?" he asked, amazed at her brazen attitude.

"Absolutely," she said, raising a hand to pat his chest just as she would stroke a horse in order to calm it. Erik sucked in a breath at her touch, unused to such casual human contact.

Unexpected electricity raced through the tips of Brielle's fingers when she brushed the cotton of his shirt. She instantly withdrew her hand as if she had been burnt glancing quickly up to Erik's face to see if he had noticed her odd behavior. An intense unnamable emotion flashed behind his bottomless blue eyes before quickly sinking beneath the surface. Brielle quickly looked away, pretending she hadn't noticed anything odd as she took a step back to a safer distance. _What is this strange feeling? _they both thought at once, before simultaneously discounting the sensation to fading temper.

"Perhaps we should take this opportunity to begin again," Brielle said calmly, the smile still shining upon her face. "I am sure we both merely started off on the wrong foot. From now on let's at least try to be civil to each other…maybe if we both are careful we can even become friends."

"Friends…?" Erik repeated quietly, as if the word were a foreign concept he couldn't quite understand. His eyes quickly lost their angry heat in his confusion.

_All of a sudden he looks so sad,_ she thought, her smile dimming.

Nodding her head Brielle stuck out her right hand. "Absolutely. I am sure we can be friendly towards each other if we work at not screaming. I am willing if you are. Is it a deal?"

Erik blinked at her, confounded by her question. Slowly, his gaze lowered to her outstretched hand, then rose back up to her soft smoky eyes. "You are the strangest woman I have ever met," he mumbled quietly as he shook his head.

"No matter how I try I cannot figure you out." At her frown he quickly continued. "What I mean to say is I will try to be more civil to you…but I am not a friendly person…" Brielle began to lower her hand, looking embarrassed at his disheartening words, but he instinctively reached out and took her hand in his. "But it is a deal. I would be lucky to count you as a friend."

At his words Brielle's expression lit up once more with a gorgeous grin. She shook his hand vigorously before releasing him. "It is a bargain then." With a happy sigh she turned from him and started across the room towards the door.

Hesitating at the doorway, she turned and glanced back at him as he sat wearily back onto the bed. "I imagine you have been terribly bored. Would you like for me to fetch you some books to read when I bring you your dinner?"

"Please God yes!" he exclaimed, making Brielle chuckle at his eager reaction as she walked out the door, leaving it open for the first time since he had been in the house. For some reason, Erik couldn't stop the smile from growing upon his face. And at the moment he didn't care to stop it.


	12. Learning to be Friendly

**Hello once again! Here is the next chapter, and it seems Brielle and Erik are finally beginning to be pleasant to one another. Hurray! Don't have much else to add at the moment. Review and tell me how you all like it! **

**Disclaimer: Don't own phantom characters. Poo! But I do own the others. **

Chapter 12: Learning to be Friendly

Late the next evening Brielle sat hunched over her writing desk, furiously scribbling upon a nearly full sheet of paper. Piles of haphazardly stacked texts surrounded her upon both the desk and the floor. Lamplight lit her face with a soft yellow glow, glinting off the reading glasses which sat perched upon her nose. The fiery spark in her eyes, along with the white lab coat she had on, created the disturbing picture of a mad scientist busy at work.

Pausing in her writing, Brielle turned her attention to an open medical text; using her finger, she consulted several lines before taking up her pen once more. Tapping the writing instrument against her bottom lip in concentration, she collected her thoughts before setting pen to paper.

"I can't believe the board rejected my proposal once again. Damned biased morons. If they would only read my work they would know what they are missing. But nooo, once they see Mrs. Donovan wrote it they set my papers aside. Gah! I am sick to death of men and their stupidity," she mumbled to herself as she began to write once more.

"Do you often talk to yourself or is this a special occasion?"

Brielle nearly jumped out of her skin when a deep masculine voice cut through the silence of the late hour. Turning quickly, she sighed in relief when her eyes landed upon Erik and not a burglar. He stood casually, one shoulder leaning against the door jam, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, a rakish smirk plastered across his sinfully full lips.

"You scared the breath right out of me!" she gasped, placing a hand over her fluttering heart. His unkempt appearance did nothing to sooth her nerves.

"That was not my intention," he began snappishly, but at her pointed glare Erik cleared his throat and started over again. "What I meant to say was that I didn't know anyone was still awake."

"Oh, it is alright," she said, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. "You move like a cat is all, I didn't hear a thing."

"I don't like to make a lot of noise. And I didn't want to disturb anyone," he said simply with a shrug, staring intently at Brielle's glasses.

Noticing his stare, she quickly reached up and snatched the spectacles from her nose. Once again feeling self conscious under his gaze. "Is that why you waited until 11:00 at night to go for a stroll?" Brielle asked.

"I am a night person and I felt like stretching my legs," he began defensively before relaxing when Brielle rolled her eyes at him.

Squinting in the lamplight Erik took a step forward, trying to see over Brielle's shoulder. "But what are you doing up so late?"

"Ohhh, nothing much," she said quickly, leaning an elbow over the papers upon the desk to block them from view. She had not known Erik for very long but she did not peg him as being a tolerant man. In fact, he seemed to be fairly intolerant and so she did not think it wise to give him extra information with which he could barb her.

"You are lying. There wouldn't be any reason for all those books unless you were doing something with them." He bent his head to the side, reading a title as he slowly walked further into the library. "Anatomy of the Circulatory System? A little heavy for some bed time reading."

"How very astute of you Erik," she stated with annoyance. "However, I don't see how it is any of your business what I do with my time." Turning her back upon, him she began to tidy up the disaster which was her desk.

Erik made a grunting sound deep in his throat, his arms crossing over his chest once again. "Now, now what unfriendly behavior. Was it not you who proposed we act civilly towards each other?"

"Of course, but it seems we are both finding it a difficult task. You simply know just how to irritate me."

"A talent I will try to suppress. And do not change the subject. I believe I inquired about what you were working on."

Marking a page in one of her books, Brielle slowly closed the well used pages. She turned in her chair to glance back towards Erik, only to find him standing directly behind her. His close proximity was unsettling.

"Are you trying to say that you would find the work of a woman of interest to you?"

"Feh, no. I find _your_ work of interest," Erik said with a snort as he turned and slowly dragged a chair close to her desk. Every motion he made was sluggish, but his natural grace veiled the weakness which still lingered from the fever.

"I don't know if you realize this but you are most unusual," he said, taking his seat next to her, his crystalline eyes pointedly staring at the white lab coat she was wearing over her simple green dress.

Brielle didn't know if she should be insulted or flattered by his ambiguous words. "Oh? Unusual am I? And how have you come to this conclusion?"

Only now did the arrogant smirk falter upon his face. "Well, since you left me with nothing to do this past week…" The dark glare freezing her features gave him pause.

"And rightly so I might add," he said clearing his throat. "Anyway I have been observing you and your habits to pass the time. I am a very keen observer, though it wouldn't take a genius to discover you are different from most people."

To distract herself from the intensity of his eyes Brielle looked down at her desk, absently tugging upon her snow white braid. "No, no it wouldn't take a genius to see I am different," she said quietly, hearing many of the unspoken meanings within his words.

The sudden melancholy in her voice bewildered him; he responded by instinctively gentling his voice.

"It was you who dragged me from the Opera," he murmured, his voice soft as a caress in the silence of the lamp lit room. "I cannot remember exactly what happened, only that there was so much smoke I couldn't breathe…"

"I also know you cared for me over the week I was taken with fever. I thought it a dream at the time, but I remember your voice speaking to me late into the night. Sometimes you would sing, I believe, a lullaby of some sort. You held me down when I thrashed with nightmares. You sang even after I struck you, didn't you?" He stopped then, his eyes upon the fading bruise about her right eye.

Without thinking he reached out and with the barest tips of his fingers traced over the discolored skin, his eyes intent upon hers. Once again a spark of electricity tingled in the air between them at his touch. Brielle could feel the warmth of his fingers upon her face even after he pulled his hand away. Somehow, in that split second, she felt as if she had known Erik all her life, as if his touch were the most natural sensation in the world.

Brielle brutally pushed such fanciful thoughts aside.

Sitting back in his chair, he shrugged his shoulders. "No ordinary woman would do such things. So I would find it of interest as to what you have been spending so much time on."

She stared at him in disbelief for a few moments as he smirked back at her. "Will you promise not to laugh if I tell you?" she asked uncertainly. No man, besides her brother, had ever shown any interest in her ideas before, not even her late husband. Most found it difficult to see past her face.

"Oh for God's sake just tell me," he snapped with impatience.

"Don't you take that tone with me," Brielle retorted as she moved the papers she had been working on to the corner of the desk so he could have a better view.

"This is my latest idea, which I have been working on for about a month now. So far my proposal has been rejected by the hospital board members but I _know_ that I am correct in my findings." She sorted through several of her papers before finding the one she was looking for.

Holding up a hand drawn diagram of a heart, she began her explanation. "Current medical doctrine states that death occurs when the heart stops beating. However, I have come to believe that the brain can live on for several minutes after the heart stops. If a doctor were able to restart the heart, death could be prevented in some cases of serious injury or illness."

"Are you trying to say you can bring people back to life?" Erik cut in incredulously.

"Oh absolutely not. Just that those we think are dead really may not be and can be saved. It is not one hundred percent accurate, if a person is meant to die they will. But I know many cases which are given up on can be revived using the techniques I have developed."

When Erik remained silent, Brielle continued with her lecture. "One method I proposed involves directing an electrical pulse into the heart in order to shock it back into motion." She sighed and shook her head. "I was told that method was a desecration of the dead. So then I proposed that a doctor could continue to pump blood through the body by pressing upon the chest until the heart begins to beat again. But they did not approve of that idea either."

Erik was silent as he ruffled through some of the papers she handed him. Detailed diagrams outlining her procedures and supporting research were neatly arranged upon the pages she had written. He was surprised to find how much sense her research seemed to make.

"Why have they rejected so many of your findings?" he suddenly asked, looking up at her inquisitively.

"Why do you think? A woman proposing new medical procedures to doctors is not received very well. So they ignore me."

"What a shame. This is all fascinating, genius even from what I can tell given my knowledge of medicine."

A slow glowing smile crept across Brielle's features. "Thank you. That is the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Don't take it too much to heart. I was only stating the truth," he grunted, growing uncomfortable with the warm expression upon her face.

"Still, it was a nice thing to say," she said, taking her papers from him and stacking them neatly upon her desk. "You can be quite charming when you want to be. I like you better this way."

An unfriendly glare flitted over his face before being deliberately smoothed out. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment."

"Of course, I meant it to be one." Brielle said sweetly as she pushed her chair back with a squeak and stood.

"One thing I must say about our newfound truce is that the house is much quieter because of it. No more screaming."

"Yes, it is more peaceful now. And I do appreciate your efforts to remain pleasant. I know how hard it must be for you," she said whilst suppressing the laugh rising in her throat.

It took him several seconds to realize she was teasing him. When he did, a slight smile broke through the characteristic frown, lighting his eyes and causing handsome wrinkles to break out about the corners of his arrogant mouth.

"Harder than you would think considering the temperament of my current company," he said, purposefully trying to make her smile more. Erik had noticed how dangerously pretty she was when she smiled.

The laugh she had been hiding burst forth and rang merrily about the room before she covered her mouth to muffle the sound. "Ah, so you do have a sense of humor. That is good to know. The Irish always love telling a good joke."

"And the French always enjoy laughing at others."

She shook her head, still giggling. "Stop it, don't make me laugh anymore. I will wake Aria."

"Then I suggest we part ways," he said, slowly getting to his feet, fatigue beginning to show around his eyes. Erik bowed slightly in Brielle's direction before breezing regally towards the library door.

"Wait…" At her request he paused in the door way, his body melting into the blackness of the hall beyond, the whiteness of his mask standing out in stark relief against the shadows. "Will you come to dinner tomorrow? I mean, at the table rather than in your room."

Suddenly realizing how horribly forward that sounded, Brielle folded her hands nervously before her. "It is just that I imagine it would be more comfortable. And you are a guest in this house which makes me feel wretched since I have not asked you sooner. You don't have to come of course. It was only a suggestion since we have learned to stop irritating each other as much. If you would prefer I will simply continue to bring your food to…"

He sighed dramatically. "How long will it take you to just ask the question? If you would like I could go away for an hour and then come back when you are ready."

Brielle glared at him as he lightly mocked her uncertainty. "Fine. Would you like to come to dinner tomorrow?"

"It would be my pleasure," Erik said simply before fading into the shadows of the sleeping house beyond the lit library.

"Good night, Erik," she called quietly after him.

After a pause, his voice hesitantly replied. "Good night, Brielle."


	13. Look Who Came to Dinner

**Hey everyone sorry this chapter took so long! My internet exploded this week and I couldn't upload this until today. Hope you all enjoy it though. **

**By the way in case it is unclear the dream referred to in this chapter is about Christine. This is why Erik is so grumpy. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own the Phantom characters but I do own everyone else. **

Chapter 13: Look Who Came to Dinner

Brielle sat quietly at the table, her eyes occasionally flickering up to study her mysterious guest. The food upon her plate remained mostly untouched. Somehow his presence made her too jittery to eat and so she pushed the food about on her plate without taking a bite. Aria, after watching her mother's strange behavior, also began to stare at Erik. However, the child had no sense of guile and openly gaped with her mouth half open.

As she secretly stole another gaze at him she couldn't help but notice how devilishly handsome he was. He had arresting looks - high sculptured cheekbones, a long narrow nose, and wide spaced eyes with long lashes. Brielle had never seen such lashes before - on man or woman.

Yes, he truly had a breath-catching face. A face, she thought, that made you long to open its secrets. And he seemed to have so many secrets. The least of which was the white mask covering the right side of his face, which Brielle barely even noticed anymore. What was under it never even crossed her mind.

Despite the beauty of his face, it was his eyes which made the greatest impression. They were an unnamable color of blue, ever changing with his moods. At the moment his eyes were cold and sharp, like broken shards of river ice reflecting a winter sky. They were so cold they burned. Brielle wondered how he could live with such intensity inside himself. She felt, it would be like trying to stare into the sun.

Sometime in the night he had shed his roguish smiles and almost friendly barbs. Erik had built a fortress about his soul within the span of twelve hours. His face was as flat and empty as a prairie in winter. The changed mystified her. Made her feel exposed.

The thought that she really didn't know this man echoed within her mind, refusing to be pushed aside. And as she studied him, she came to realize just how big he was sitting at her table. His shoulders were wide and well toned; she could see his muscles moving under the shirt she had given him every time he moved. If he wanted, she knew, he could break her in half as easily as snapping a toothpick in two.

"Would you like some more mashed potatoes?" she finally asked, unable to stand the silence any longer. He merely shook his head, declining her offer as he stared into the darkness outside the window.

As a new thought dawned on her she abruptly asked. "Are you feeling well?"

"Quite well. I simply did not sleep peacefully last night," he replied coolly.

"Is it your troubling dreams or your troubling personality which causes you to be so annoying today?" Finally she had lost her patience and her tone took the biting chill of an arctic wind. If he wanted to build walls then she would match him brick for brick.

He turned those burning eyes upon her as he slowly set his fork down upon the side of the plate. His table manners were impeccable. "Did I say that my dreams were troubled?" Erik inquired as he began to frown at her.

"Muh-muh-momma is a mind reader!" Aria supplied before falling back into her silent observance of their strange visitor, a dab of mashed potatoes smeared upon her chin.

Surprised amusement flashed over his face before receding. "Oh?"

"Of course not! And Aria, what a terrible thing to make up!"

"I wah-wah-wasn't making it up!"

Brielle huffed and waved a dismissive hand, turning her eyes back to Erik. "You didn't mention it but it is not a far stretch of the mind to assume bad dreams are the cause of your insomnia." In truth, her statement wasn't an assumption at all. The knowledge had suddenly floated across her mind, like a whisper upon the wind.

Erik remained silent, but his eyes were burning bright as a winter's sun. He stared at her so hard it was as if he were boring a hole straight through the middle of her forehead. Brielle shifted under his gaze, once again feeling the unspoken threat lying dormant within the beauty of his musician's hands when they balled into fists. _He is doing that on purpose to frighten me. _

How she missed her husband, John, in times like these, when the fear began to grip at her chest, squeezing the breath right out of her. Brielle's hard expression softened slightly as the old grief slowly filled her, easily pushing aside the fear.

The mysterious whisper within her mind drifted into her consciousness as she met her patient glare for glare. "Everyone grieves, Erik. I ask you to not take yours out on me." She said, echoing the knowing voice within her head without understanding its words.

"What do you know of grief!" he hissed quietly, his lips thinning with temper, his eyes flashing.

"What do I know of…" Shock prevented her from dumbly repeating his words.

The pair stared at one another in silence for a split second - he with fury, she with a cool if slightly shocked expression. Slowly Brielle bowed her head, staring at her tightly clenched hands within her lap. As she raised a hand to cover the tremble beginning in her bottom lip, her heart began to squeeze painfully within her chest. The growing pressure clenched her throat shut even as tears stung at her eyes.

Erik seemed surprised when she raised her head, eyes bright with tears. The burning anger behind his eyes quickly fled as Brielle visibly struggled to not allow those tears to fall.

"Muh-Momma don't cry!" Aria pleaded, frightened by her mother's show of weakness. Her words earned her a broken smile from Brielle before the white haired lady turned her full attention upon the uncomfortable man across the table.

"Compared to some I suppose my life has been terribly easy, but make no mistake I have had my share of pain!" Her final word warbled in the air, then broke as her tears began to run freely and washed down her face. Brielle quickly covered her face with both hands, leaning her elbows on the table.

"Brielle I…"

Her words cut him off as she mumbled through her hands. "I was eighteen when I was married. I was so young then, and John was my first love. He made me feel like I wasn't so strange and I loved him for that."

He tried again, guilt over his cruel, thoughtless words clenched his stomach. Her tears made him feel like a monster. "Brielle, please I…"

"Shut up! You will listen to this!" she said sharply. Erik's mouth instantly snapped shut.

"I had been married for little over a year when John decided it would help our family financially if he were to join the army, and his older brother agreed to go with him. They said it was their duty and nothing I said would change their obstinate minds. Stupid…"

"As the day of their deployment approached, a terrible feeling deep in my heart began to take hold. I knew they would come to harm and so I begged John not to go. Begged him on my knees…but still he left. He was gone hardly a month before he was shot. It was so strange could almost feel his death before I was told about it. The day Andrew, John's brother, came to my door to tell me of his death was the day I found out I was with child. John never even knew he was going to be a father."

The room fell into tense silence as her words ran out. Brielle sagged back into her chair and let her hands fall into her lap. Her eyes then rose to his. "So don't you dare believe for a moment you are the only one in the world bleeding. Despair is universal, you egotistical maggot brained buffoon and don't you forget it!"

Aria stared open mouthed at her mother's snappish words, raising a spoonful of green beans into her mouth.

For the first time in his life Erik was at a loss for words. He had no idea such overpowering grief lay behind Brielle's cool façade. "I apologize," he began quietly, feeling foolish under the accusing gray gaze of his hostess. "I spoke without thinking. I was cruel to you because you remind me of what I have lost."

The sharpness in her eyes faded and she reached up to scrub the wetness from her cheeks. "Your apology is appreciated but you have apologized before without changing your behavior. And I have suddenly lost my appetite," she said, scooting her chair away from the table before standing.

"Finish your meal monsieur. My daughter and I will have to take our leave of you. Aria, come with me." Aria stood up on her chair, then jumped down onto the floor taking her mother's hand. As Brielle swept regally out of the room, her daughter in tow, Aria turned her head and stuck her tongue out at Erik. He was left alone in the dinning room.

With a growl, the dark haired man covered his eyes in frustration. _What is wrong with me? One moment I am calm and the next horrible things are spewing out of my mouth._

A long time passed as Erik sat berating himself. Outside, snow began to fall in the darkness of the night. The self deprecating thoughts ground to a sudden halt when a shadow passed by the window. Frowning with concentration, Erik squinted through the lamp light. He jumped to his feet when the shadow flashed by the other dinning room window.

Quickly blowing out the lantern on the table, Erik crouched low so as not to create a noticeable outline as he followed the shadow moving around the outside of the house. He silently moved out of the dinning room, down the hallway and into the library. Erik may have acted like a brute but damned if he was going to let someone lurk about Brielle's house.

One of the library windows was just being nudged open when Erik reached the room's door. A flurry of snow burst in as a pair of hands latched onto the window sill. Several curses floated over the crying of the wind as a body was boosted into the room.

Erik was across the room in the blink of an eye. Something about the thought of a man breaking into Brielle's house really sent him into a rage. He threw himself upon the burglar with a growl, his fists flying. A surprised yelp issued from the thief, followed by another series of blistering curses. When Erik's knuckles made contact with a jaw the man's curses suddenly stopped.

A boot struck out in the darkness and lodged itself in Erik's gut. He fell back onto the floor with a grunt, seeing spots float before his vision. Scrambling to his feet he again dove upon the intruder, putting the man into a choke hold. An elbow slammed into his chin but he did not let go.

The burglar's movements were just beginning to slow when the room was suddenly thrown into bright light. Erik turned his head only to see Brielle standing stunned in the doorway. She nearly dropped her lamp as she rushed across the room.

"Stop it! Erik let him go!"

She obviously didn't understand the gravity of the situation. "Brielle I caught this man breaking into your house!"

"That is enough. Just let him go!"

Thinking it a mistake Erik did as she asked. Painfully getting to his feet he swiped at a drop of blood trickling from his busted lip. To his utter shock Brielle knelt by the intruder's side and helped the auburn haired man to his feet. The burglar glared fiercely at Erik with glittering green eyes.

"What are you doing? Are you mad? He just tried to…"

Turning towards Erik with an uncomfortable smile Brielle placed a hand on the intruder's arm. She glanced nervously between the two as if she expected them to lunge at one another again.

"Erik I would like you to meet my older brother, Conner."


	14. First Impressions

**Hey everyone! I am sorry for the delay of this chapter. Where did my discipline go? Oh well. Hope you all like this chapter. Review please!**

Disclaimer: Don't own the Phantom. So sad.

Chapter 14: First Impressions

Brielle stood nervously next to Conner, a restraining hand firmly clamped upon his elbow. The auburn haired man's chest heaved with each breath as he gasped for air while rubbing his neck. Unlike her he had inherited an explosive temper, easily ignited and quickly spent, and she worried, given the promise of violence in his eyes, that he would leap across the room and attack her guest once again.

She spoke before either one of the bleeding men could begin brawling again. "Erik I would like you to meet my older brother, Conner."

At her words, Erik's face went completely blank in shock. To her utter surprise a slow blush began to creep up the impossible man's neck, coloring his cheeks with embarrassment. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as she stared at him, looking sheepish for the first time since she had known him. _How wonderfully adorable,_ she thought fleetingly before pushing the errant thought to the side. What was she thinking of? The man was a boar. Only half an hour ago he had driven her to tears, after all. The hollow ache in her stomach from the encounter still rested leaden in her belly.

Looking back at her brother, she squeezed his arm and braved a smile. "Conner, this is Erik. He is the man that I found in the Opera and…"

"I know who he is Bri," Conner growled while glaring daggers at Erik as he dabbed at the blood dripping from his nose. "I am the one who dragged his sorry ass all the way here after all. And what the hell is the use of having a sister who can see the future IF SHE DOESN"T KNOW I AM COMING!" He finished with a bone shaking bellow.

Grimacing as the roar washed over her, Brielle stood perfectly still, her eyes steady though clouded with embarrassment. She shot a quick glance toward Erik, a blush quickly infusing her face. Speaking out the side of her mouth, she pinched Conner's arm. "Could you please _not _shout about er…well, about family matters in front of company?"

A frown wrinkled the skin between Conner's brows as he in turn glanced Erik's way, who by now had regained his composure and stood regally, despite his bloodied lip. Turning his head back towards Brielle, Conner's frown deepened. Straightening his shoulders, he mimicked Erik's cool empirical stature as he crossed his arms over his chest. "What's the matter Bri? Why, I do believe you are blushing! But the question of the hour is _why_?" he inquired suspiciously.

A cloud passed over Brielle's features at the mocking tone her brother was directing towards her. The implication that she had some reason to be embarrassed frightened her beyond words; she had long ago stopped caring what men thought of her and her abnormalities, or tried to at least. Such tactics were useful in guarding the heart from the greatest female weakness of all, Love. She had loved once and the loss of that love had nearly destroyed her sanity, sending her spiraling into a well of despair. The fact that she _was_ embarrassed irritated her even more.

Placing her hands upon her hips in her characteristic battle stance, she squared off against Conner.

"Don't you dare take that tone with me Conner Sinclair! I am your sister, not your servant!"

"Bri when I said I would feel better if you had some protection here I meant for you to get a dog!" the man shouted, gesturing wildly with his hands, all the color draining out of his face in fury, making the freckles upon his nose stand out in relief.

At the sight of Conner's violent gesticulating towards Brielle, Erik took a hasty step forward, his eyes snowdrift cold and fixed upon the auburn haired man. The siblings stopped glaring at one another and turned with surprise at Erik's advance. The masked man looked prepared to knock Conner's face in should one of his hands fly too close to Brielle's face.

Seeing the murder in his eyes Brielle quickly stepped between the two men, flashing Erik a calming smile. The sight of her soft expression apparently soothed the dark haired man, for the frost left his glare and was replaced with the haughty indifference he normally wore. Assured that Erik no longer meant to kill her brother in some misguided attempt to protect her, Brielle turned back to Conner and poked the man in the chest. Lord, she was getting fed up with men and their macho preening.

"Where in the world did you learn such deplorable manners? It was YOU dear brother who were climbing through my library window. Erik was simply seeing to it that a burglar should not make it into the house. You should be thanking him for protecting this household not bellowing insults and accusations!"

Surprisingly enough, the glare faded from Conner's features as he contemplated her words while considering Erik with hooded eyes. Slowly he tilted his head back and closed his eyes as if pleading with God for patience. Raising one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, he stood tensely through Brielle's biting words. He had seen with his own eyes that what she said was true. Her odd guest had been trying to protect her. Even, it seemed, from him. With a huff he opened his eyes, the glitter of violence fading from the stormy green of his gaze.

"Ah, damn if you aren't right," he began with a dramatic sigh, a smile slowly replacing his heated glare. His temper faded just as quickly as it had appeared, though suspicion still darkened his eyes to a deep forest green.

Running an awkward hand through his already wild red hair, Conner took a step towards Erik. "Thank you for protecting my lovely sister's honor, virtue, and horrible loud mouth. Had I been a true burglar I would have surely given up the trade after just one of your punches sir. You damn near took my head clear off my shoulders!" he said with a laugh as he rubbed his bruised jaw.

Offering his hand Conner crossed the room in three steps, Brielle following upon his heels. "Allow me to introduce myself properly, sir. I am Conner Riley Sinclair."

At Conner's advance Erik tensed, his delicately boned hands fisting at his sides, his lips thinning - preparing for another attack. A moment of strained silence passed as the two men stared at each other, Conner with his hand held out studying Erik intently, and Erik on edge, waiting for a blow that wasn't coming.

Brielle worried her full bottom lip between her teeth as she watched them study each other like two strange cats in an alley. A frown slowly began to form over Conner's features as his hand continued to hang in the air. Erik attempted to maintain an aloof expression, but the tension in his posture and eyes revealed his unrest.

Clearing his throat, Conner began to lower his outstretched hand. Brielle could feel an expression of disappointment flickering over her features. Though Conner usually had an easygoing and forgiving temperament, Brielle feared that under the circumstances, the damage done that night might be irreparable. How would the two ever get along with this being their first encounter?

Just as she was about to give up hope on them Erik suddenly relaxed his stance; reaching forward, he took hold of Conner's hand in a firm handshake.

"Pleased to meet you sir. Your sister has often spoken of you over the last few days. She speaks very highly of you."

Conner grinned at Erik before releasing the dark haired man's hand and crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "Ha, Brielle saying something nice about me! She must have been drunk. She knows perfectly well I am a scoundrel."

"Oh you are not Conner. Stop making up stories," Brielle huffed in response to his statement, her smoky eyes rolling skyward.

Quickly leaning forward Conner playfully swatted at his sister, but she evaded him easily, looking both irritated and bored by his silliness. "Aw, come on now lass you and Da both shared the opinion that musicians are frivolous and good for nothing."

Erik raised his head in interest at this point, surprise evident in his voice. "You are a musician?"

"Yes, a damned good one too! I play the violin for the most part." At the dumbfounded expression on Erik's face Conner laughed. "You look surprised."

"Well, I assumed that you being a relation to Brielle that…"

"That I would be something boring like a Doctor or scientist?" he asked, shaking his red head from side to side. "Brielle takes after Da's side of the family. I take after our mother's. She was an actress before she met our Da." He scratched his clean shaven chin in thought then.

"Though surprisingly enough, Brielle does take after Ma in one way don't you Bri?"

"Conner!" Brielle hissed.

"Our little Bri was the best ballet dancer in all of Ireland. Weren't you Bri! Though you would never know it by the way she acts."

Rubbing a hand over her eyes, Brielle sighed heavily. "Conner, it isn't polite to discuss personal facts with someone you just met. Besides isn't it about time I took a look at your nose? It could be broken you know."

"Is it true?" Erik suddenly asked, his eyes fixed upon her face, watching a wave of embarrassed color rising into her cheeks.

The heat of his gaze was like a touch across her skin; his eyes ignited a strange sensation in her belly, almost like a tickle. She didn't much like it. "Yes, I did dance for a time. But as I got older it became increasingly apparent that to continue in such pursuits was inappropriate. The arts are only acceptable for men, much like science. But I would rather be thought of as a bookworm than a harlot and so I chose science."

Brielle raised her chin dangerously high, her eyes narrowing at both men, quelling any further questions.

Conner grimaced at the look on his sister's face before turning to Erik. The red head seemed surprised to see that Brielle's threatening stance had little effect on the masked man. A fact which both impressed him and worried him.

"Uncle Cah-Cah-Conner" A high pitched squeal erupted from the hallway making everyone in the library turn to the sound.

Aria ran into the room her arms flung wide, making a beeline towards Conner. With a grin he crouched down to her level and swung her up into the air with practiced care. The child screamed with delight before latching onto his neck.

"Will y-you play y-your vah-vah-vio…" _violin._ The excitement clenched the girl's throat shut, making her words unintelligible. Aria ground her teeth together as her throat worked to expel the word that was stuck somewhere between her head and her tongue.

"Not tonight sugar. It is way too lat…" He trailed off as a look of disbelief washing over his features. "Damnit! That reminds me. Eh, Bri I will be back shortly; with all the excitement I forgot that I left my violin outside in the blessed snow!" With that Conner dashed out of the room, a laughing Aria bouncing upon his hip.

"I swear that he loves that violin more than anything else in the world," Brielle said with affectionate annoyance.

A comfortable quiet wrapped around Erik and Brielle like a well made quilt on a cold day. With a smile she turned toward her guest, but the smile quickly slipped off her features when she caught sight of the state his face was in. In the short amount of time the two men had been brawling, Conner had managed to split Erik's lip and inflict a bruise high on his left cheek.

Shaking her head Brielle crossed the room, her eyes settling upon Erik's bleeding lower lip. Her mind betrayed her once again when she noticed that even in his disheveled state he was devilishly good looking. Quickly tearing her eyes from his hard mouth, Brielle reached into her pocket and drew out a lace-edged handkerchief.

Erik flinched when she raised the cloth towards his face. Her hand froze in the air and she smiled at him. "You're bleeding." When he merely watched her in silence Brielle's face flooded with color. "Don't worry I have a very gentle touch."

"I am sure you do," he said quietly, his eyes burning with unexpressed emotion.

Biting her own lip in concentration, Brielle carefully dabbed at the blood on his chin. They were standing so close now that his every breath brushed her cheek. Though her movements were strictly medicinal in nature, she couldn't help but feel the intimacy of their proximity, of her touching his face.

A strange mood had come over him when her fingers brushed his jaw; she thought she caught a flash of something in his eyes, the echoes of a bleak sorrow not yet put away, and then there was nothing. His face became a mask.

Brielle stepped back slowly, snapping the thread of tension thrumming between them. "You are lucky you won't need any stitches. But I think you should put some ice on your face," she murmured in order to break the weighted silence. Erik merely inclined his head to show he heard her.

A triumphant shout issued from down the hall , heralding Conner's return with his violin. Brielle folded her bloodied handkerchief and retreated to the library door. "Well, I suppose I should put Aria to bed before Conner works her up into a frenzy."

"Good night then Brielle," Erik said quietly, his face once again impassive.

Brielle nodded and left the room quickly, her breath sawing out of her throat by the time she made it to the hall. His presence was beginning to have an increasingly strange influence over her senses - a dangerously strange influence. Placing a calming hand over her thumping heart, Brielle smoothed out her features and strode down the hall to collect her daughter.


	15. A Student and A Teacher

**Here you go everyone. Hope you like this newest chapter. It is a bit longer than the other ones. But oh well. **

Chapter 15: Learning to Let Go

Erik sat quietly in the library, vainly trying to occupy himself with a good book. So far he was failing miserably at the task. Brittle winter sunlight slanted through the window on his left, warming his face and lighting the pages laid out upon his lap. He sighed with boredom as he flipped the book shut and placed it upon the table next to his chair.

Tapping his fingers upon the armrest, Erik slowly surveyed the room for the hundredth time that day. The library, like the rest of the house, was cozy and well appointed. Every item within the room had obviously been carefully selected and showed the keen good taste of the decorator.

Odd foreign knickknacks dotted the bookshelves, an oriental jade dragon sat proudly next to a fierce African mask and in one corner he was sure he saw a shrunken head. Intricate Persian rugs lay across the highly polished wooden floorboards, muffling every sound from the rest of the house and giving the room an odd sense of isolation. The furniture was surprisingly simple, lacking all the frivolous embellishments currently considered fashionable, and yet the clean unassuming design of the pieces were elegant nonetheless. He was sure none other than his fascinating hostess had been the mind behind the clean-cut, if eccentric, décor of the household. The woman didn't seem to have a trivial bone in her petite body.

Yes, the library was the perfect room to be alone in; it was his favorite room for this reason. Being a man used to solitude, Erik had found it frustrating to suddenly find himself tossed into the convoluted social interactions of the Donovan/Sinclair family. He was completely out of his element.

The siblings were as opposite in their personalities as they were in appearance - Conner shifting from fiery hot tempers to easy smiles in the blink of an eye, and Brielle serene and cool as a mountain pond until something broke her wintry exterior revealing the passion flowing just under the surface. Their opposing characteristics often set one or the other off into a railing tirade. Two to three times a day an argument would break out between the two, yet neither one ever seemed to actually be angry with the other. He had come to realize the fights were more of a game they liked to play, rather than a true display of frustration or fury. To put it simply, the people were absolutely mad.

Even worse than the incessant battles between Conner and Brielle were the unexpected displays of affection the siblings often shared. Erik had never been exposed to people who were more open with their fondness of each other. Every kiss on the cheek and playful swat one dealt to the other only served to enlighten him further on how families actually worked - and on how much he had missed out on in his lifetime. God, how he longed for such simple contact, the brush of a hand on his shoulder_…_

_Or the feather soft pressure of delicate fingers brushing my lower lip, while soft gray eyes concentrate on removing the blood from my chin._ Erik jerked to his feet, disconcerted, as the errant thought floated unbidden across his mind. It had been _five_ days since Conner arrived in the household; the bruises of their first encounter had faded now to a pale yellow. It had been _five_ days since Brielle had gently washed his face with her handkerchief and yet he couldn't stop thinking about it.

The shock of her casual contact still thrummed through his blood every time he looked at her. The places where her bare fingers had brushed his jaw still burned from her touch. He suspected the girl had no idea how powerful even her slight stroke had been; in a way, he hated her for it - hated her for her effortless beauty and unintentional sensuality.

Erik had never known the tender touch of a woman until he had met Christine. At first their relationship had been strictly teacher and pupil. She hadn't even known he was real, he was her angel; at the time he liked it that way. But one day everything changed; one day he looked at his young student and was struck deaf, blind, and dumb by what he saw.

Christine's face had the fresh and young beauty of a girl, a face which sharply contrasted with the dark and knowing depths of her cinnamon eyes. She was a girl who knew she had a beauty that drew a man's eye; he now knew she longed for that attention in some secret part of her soul because she terribly missed the love her father once bestowed upon her. He filled that doting fatherly position for a long time, but eventually he couldn't help but notice the young woman who had replaced his student.

When that day came, when he saw her as a woman, he knew with a certainty that shook him to the core that his life had just been irrevocably changed by that mere slip of a woman. Oh how he had loved her, how he had lusted after her. _And now it is over. Stop thinking about it like a love struck pup. I should have known better, _he thought bitterly as he paced the room. _Monsters are not meant to be loved. In the real world Beauty never chooses the Beast._

And even now, after all that had happened, his heart rebelled against this fact. And he remembered the fire burning through his blood at the brush of a lace lined handkerchief, the sight of kind gray eyes.

He shook himself violently, throwing off the unwanted thoughts. Damned if he would let lust cloud his eyes ever again. Damned if he would let another woman's frivolous heart turn him away, condemn him to his own personal hell, to a place where the sun had burned to ash and he lay screaming in the darkness.

A scowl soured his face as he stalked to the library door, throwing it open with too much force, no longer able to stand the silence of the room. As the echo of wood cracking against wood faded, his sensitive ears honed in on the wafting notes of piano music. The sure and confident notes indicated a skilled and practiced hand, yet at odd moments a sour note would sound, making him wince in response.

"Odd…" he murmured quietly, his dark brows drawing down over his wild blue eyes. "I was sure Brielle said she would be out for the rest of the afternoon. And her buffoon of a brother is still trying to repair the destruction from this morning."

The girl had said something about seeing to her duties at the nearby Veterans' hospital and left early that morning, leaving the household in the Conner's hands. A decision which once again caused Erik to seriously doubt the soundness of Brielle's sanity.

As soon as her snowy head had disappeared out the front door, utter chaos had erupted in the house. Erik had watched dumbfounded as a squealing Aria ran by the parlor door with a sheaf of loose paper gripped in one tiny fist over her head. As the child scampered down the hall, pieces of the paper in her hand fell free and scattered over the floor, leaving a trail in her wake. Seconds after the child had run by, Conner, bellowing at the top of his lungs, raced after the toddler trying to snatch at the paper in her hands. The red headed man stumbled over his own two feet and fell face first onto the floor. Laughing Aria had escaped into the next room, just ahead of Conner when he got to his feet.

At the time Erik couldn't help but smirk slightly at Conner's misfortune, though he hid the expression before anyone saw. He was just grateful he didn't have to race after the child. Her energy made him tired by just watching her (the fever's weakness still lingered in his limbs), but he had to admit that from a bystander's perspective the girl was a riot.

The morning had worn on like that, hours and hours of childish screaming and the sound of thundering feet echoing throughout the house. When he hadn't been able to stand it any longer he had retreated to the library - though he would never have admitted it was to hide from a three and a half year old terror.

Now that he thought about it though, the house had been rather quite for some time now. Except, of course, for the melancholy piano music issuing from the parlor now. He found himself slowly strolling towards the sound of the music; it had been so long since he had heard the sweet sound of chords blending together in perfect harmony that it drew him.

He stood outside the parlor door, one hand resting on the doorframe as he bent his head, listening to the melody drifting through the quiet of the house. Erik found himself unwilling to disrupt the lovely sounds. The song was low, mournful and vaguely familiar. Something stirred, then shifted back into place within him as the notes wafted through the air. Something he thought had died that last night at the Opera. The music in his mind began to play again, replacing the silence which his heart's agony had woven about his consciousness.

After several moments he straightened and quietly nudged open the parlor door, expecting to see Conner seated at the grand piano in the middle of the parlor. What he found instead shocked him into stillness.

The tiny figure seated before the keys barely took up a fourth of the bench's space. Small stockinged feet dangled over the pedals, unable to reach them and swinging in the air. Aria's chubby baby hands stretched as far as her fingers would allow; once again she missed a note, being unable to reach the proper keys. The delicate winter sun illuminated the child from behind, getting lost in the darkness of her hair.

Erik took a step into the room, unable to stop himself; the music pulled upon the very foundations of his soul. His foot landed upon a loose floorboard and a load groan issued from the offended wood. The music came to a crashing halt, ringing sourly in the sudden silence.

Large gray eye rose to meet his over the closed top of the piano. He felt odd with those eyes studying him so closely; they were Brielle's eyes. Aria slowly slid her hands from the ivory keys and folded them in her lap, instantly transforming from prodigy back into toddler.

"Hello Aria," he said quietly when the girl merely stared at him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as her mother often did. Erik frowned slightly, totally in the dark as to how to deal with a child.

When she stayed silent he tried again, taxing his already limited social skills. "I didn't know you could play the piano." He cleared his throat, oddly nervous being alone with the girl;(,) a silent part of his mind waiting, waiting for her to open her mouth and scream in terror because of his presence.

At his words, the solemn expression faded from her face. Aria flashed a shy grin his way. "I d-don't play very g-g-go…." The last word struggled to escape her mouth but seemed unable to work its way over her tongue. Giving up in frustration she clamped her teeth shut, color rising to stain her cheeks an angry red.

Something about the bleak cloud darkening her eyes touched him, breaking a tiny chink from the fortress about his heart. Before doubt could stop him, he crossed the room and sat down upon the piano bench next to the three year old.

"Now who in the world told you that? I thought you played wonderfully."

A moment passed as his words sunk in before Aria raised her eyes to his, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "L-Liar," she said quietly, as if afraid that one word wouldn't come out right. Successful, she barreled on. "M-My hands are t-too small!" she exclaimed, raising her tiny hands up before her face to demonstrate their size.

"And your feet don't reach the pedals either," he teased, shocked by how easy it was. He was secretly pleased when Aria smiled at him again, a dimple flickering momentarily in her left cheek. "But don't worry, in a few years none of that will be a problem anymore."

She pouted at that. "That is a l-long time!"

"Oh, you would be surprised how fast it actually is." She merely pursed her lips, skeptical.

The room settled into a comfortable quiet, the wind outside the windows murmuring against the frosted glass. Erik studied his hands folded in his lap, listening to the sounds of the house. For once not feeling pressed to think of something to say.

Suddenly Aria turned on the bench, one of her small hands reaching out to tug upon his sleeve. "D-Do you play any m-m-mus…" _music._ She clamped her traitorous mouth shut, looking up at him uncertainly, as if waiting for him to laugh.

Though his ears stung from the discord of her words, his face remained impassive. The gray eyed child relaxed once again when he made no comment on her speech. "Yes, I used to play some music."

"D-Do you play the p-piano?" she asked excitedly, her other hand coming around and gripping his sleeve.

He looked down at her hands fisted in the loose fabric of his shirt sleeve and found himself smiling. "Yes, I do play the piano."

"W-Will you play s-something? N-No one else ever p-plays with me!"

Erik lowered his eyes to the well used keys inches from his folded hands. The smile upon his face sobered slowly. Would he ever be able to play again now that he was without the one woman who had inspired him over the last few years? Would he be able to play without thinking of _her?_

Automatically his hands rose to rest lightly upon the cool piano keys, even as whispers of doubt bounced about his brain. Erik closed his eyes, the music in his mind quickly drowning out everything else. His fingers came down upon the keys, caressing the first note out of the instrument with an innate tenderness he rarely revealed.

He felt Aria still next to him, her hands sliding free of his sleeve, enthralled. God, he had almost forgotten how good it was to feel the give of ivory under his hand, to hear the sound of his own music ringing in his ears. Turning his head, he flashed a brilliant smile down at Aria and she grinned back at him.

Feeling giddy with the exhilaration he always felt while playing, Erik began shifting from song to song, his facial expression matching the tone of the music. Aria shrieked with delight when he drew his face into a dark leer, the music deepening, low notes pounding like a heartbeat. Suddenly he shifted to a light airy piece, his features matching pace with raised eyebrows and dramatic smile.

"Y-You are a funny m-man!" the child stuttered between giggles, her hands pressed to her cheeks in delight.

"You are the only person in the world who has ever thought me funny," he said with a smile.

"L-Liar," she responded, a chubby thumb rising to her mouth. Closing her eyes, Aria leaned her dark head against his side, shocking him into tense silence. "I l-like the w-way you talk," she sighed deeply, as only a child can. "It is s-smooth l-like mu-mu-music."

He sat stiffly, the slight pressure of a silky head upon his arm totally foreign to him. Finally Erik turned his head and looked down at the child snuggled up against his side, feeling for the first time in his life as if he was acceptable, as if he was not a monster after all. It felt good.

"Aria, have you ever had music lessons?" he asked her softly, his voice lowering to accommodate her suddenly gloomy mood.

"N-N-No."

"Why not? I am sure you would be even better if you did."

"I am too s-stupid to have l-lessons."

The instantaneous fury which erupted into his bloodstream at her words caught him off guard. Memories of taunts from his own childhood flickered across his mind. "Who told you that you were stupid?" he growled softly, blue eyes glittering dangerously.

She turned her head to stare up at him, startled by the tone of his voice. "Uncle Andrew d-d-did, he's D-Da's brother. H-He wants me to g-g-g-go a special s-school cause I t-talk s-slow." Her tiny face darkened suddenly. "It m-made M-Momma cry w-when he s-s-said that."

She scrambled up onto her knees cupping her little hand about his ear. "Uncle Andrew is a m-monster!" she whispered, as if it were a secret. "It w-was his fault D-Da was s-shot. AND he wants to m-marry M-Momma!"

Something about the last part of her whisperings irritated him even further. Especially since this Andrew character sounded like a damned ass. He just didn't like picturing someone low enough to call a child dumb going after Brielle. "Just because you speak slowly doesn't mean you are stupid," he stated firmly.

Aria smiled then. "T-That is what M-Momma says. She s-says that p-people aren't always w-what they s-s-seem to be."

"Your mother seems to be a very smart lady." Aria smiled at his words, forgetting her frustrations as only a child can, in the blink of an eye. "Has your mother ever tried to find you a teacher in order to help your speech?"

"Y-Yes, but they w-were mean l-like Uncle Andrew."

The inner workings of Erik's mind shifted into action, turning the thought forming in his brain over and over. "How would you feel if I offered to help you speak better?"

The child's ecstatic squeal erupted instantly from her lungs as the girl took hold of his shirt sleeve once more, bouncing up and down upon the piano bench till it shook. He momentarily marveled at the girl's complete lack of decorum. It was refreshing really, to not be treated with caution.

"I suppose that was an answer in the positive," Erik muttered sticking a finger in his ear, worrying that he would never hear again.

"T-Teach me something n-now!" the child whispered excitedly, but before Erik could reply, the creak of a loose floorboard announced the presence of another in the room.

"Why, don't the two of you look pretty as a picture," a smiling voice said from the doorway, startling the pair on the piano bench.

Erik slowly brought his gaze up until he caught Brielle's laughing gray eyes behind her shaded spectacles. She stood in the doorway, still clothed in a thick traveling cloak and black leather gloves, her sparkling white hair swept atop her head in a loose bun. When his gaze fell to her full lips, he quickly jerked his eyes back to the piano keys. She had an enticing mouth, especially when she smiled like she was now.

He quickly noticed that despite her light expression and bantering words the woman was bone tired - though her eyes remained soft with warm affection as they settled on her daughter and him. And, just for a moment, a haunted sadness dimmed the sparkle in her gaze.

Speaking out of the corner of his mouth he slowly removed Aria's tiny hands from his arm. "Perhaps another time, child." He let the openness of his expression cool, his guard quickly reinstating itself under Brielle's gaze.

"Good afternoon Brielle. Did you have a sufficiently rewarding time at the hospital?"

The woman merely shook her head, too tired to rise to the barb hidden in his voice. "No, but that is neither here nor there. Thank you for looking after Aria. You didn't have to. Conner always keeps his eye on her. Even when he is cleaning up his messes."

Erik shrugged off her thanks as Aria hopped off the stool and skipped over to her mother. "M-Momma Mr. Erik c-can play the p-piano!"

"Can he then? My, won't Uncle Conner be happy to hear that?"

"Y-Yes! Can I go t-tell him!"

"Yes, you may." And with that the girl disappeared through the door, calling out for her Uncle. Erik and Brielle suddenly found themselves tossed into a strained, almost electric silence.

He watched as the woman took a deep breath and advanced into the room. Erik raised his chin defiantly, ready for the condemnation he would receive for getting to close to the child. When Brielle sank onto the piano bench beside him he tensed. He didn't like her being so close, it made him feel oddly warm all over.

Erik watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye, unable to stop himself from appreciating the loveliness of her profile. He felt his expression sour as his lips drew tight over his teeth. Brielle, almost as if sensing his unrest, turned her head towards him then and took off her shaded glasses.

"You play very well," she began her voice unsure, obviously skirting the issue she wished to address. _Any second now she is going to ask me to leave for getting to close to the kid. _

"I always thought you had the hands of a musician," she said quietly. When Brielle gently took one of his hands in hers, Erik was stunned to the very core of his being.

"Thank you," Brielle whispered quietly, her voice just barely kept from breaking. Her grip on his hand was gentle.

"For what?" he sputtered, becoming disturbed when he caught sight of tears swimming in Brielle's lovely eyes.

"Forgive me; I was eavesdropping upon your conversation." She turned her head until he only could see the curve of one cheek. "Thank you for being so kind to my daughter, for treating her fairly. She usually doesn't even talk to people she doesn't know well. It frustrates her so and people can be so cruel. But I heard her speaking to you. Heard you offering to help her speak better…" She turned and looked at him then, a tired smile upon her face.

"You really are a kind man aren't you? Even though you try very hard not to be."

His brows drew down at her words and he slowly drew his hand from hers. "You have no idea who I am!" he snapped automatically, the words jumping from his mouth before he even registered thinking them. The hurt that crossed her face at his intentional withdrawal was surprising.

"Forget I mentioned it then!" She bit out, barely paused to take a breath before continuing. "I can pay you if you like," Brielle said airily as she got stiffly to her feet, affecting an air of unconcerned annoyance she brilliantly hid her true feelings.

"Pay me?"

"Yes, for teaching Aria. After all, being that you are an insufferable boar you wouldn't want anyone to mistake your actions as being too nice! And since you prefer to act like a stranger perhaps I should treat you like one and pay you for your efforts!"

Erik suddenly realized how deeply he must have hurt her feelings. She looked perfectly composed but he knew she must be as angry as she had ever been in his presence. He slowly stood, the piano bench separating them by only a few feet. Brielle stiffened when he took one step and closed the distance between them.

"Brielle, I didn't mean..."

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare apologize to me! I won't accept it!" she snapped without backing down, going so far as to jab him sharply in the chest with a finger.

With a growl he snatched at her hands, firmly clutching them against the front of his shirt and effectively stopping her annoying movements. "Shut your mouth and listen!" he barked, shocking her into stillness. "I already feel like an ass for being so cruel, you don't have to be so dramatic and make me feel worse! Sometimes I find myself saying things I don't mean. God knows I am trying to control my temper but your mouth would try the patience of a saint!"

Brielle blinked up at him, the barely hidden anger appearing then fading from her features. The closeness of their bodies quickly started to become all too apparent. With her every breath, her bodice brushed against his chest. Erik suddenly forgot what he had been about to say. His eyes, unbidden, dropped to her parted lips. He felt her hands relax in his hold till they lay flat against his collar bone. Another tiny chink fell away from his many defenses.

"Erik," She sighed. "Whatever it is you are holding onto…" There was a slight pause as she bit her bottom lip anxiously. "You must learn to let it go. If you let it fester any longer…it will eat away your soul till nothing remains but darkness."

He didn't understand how this tiny woman, in so short a time, had come to know his very mind. Her insight into his innermost thoughts was unnerving. Erik opened his mouth to reply, but was rudely interrupted.

A roar sounded from somewhere down the hallway, followed by the pounding of two sets of feet approaching the parlor. Erik immediately released Brielle from his grip, springing back from her as if the touch of her skin had burnt him. She raised a shaky hand to her head as if dazed at his sudden retreat at the precise moment Conner burst into the room with Aria trailing on his heels.

Seeing the look on her brother's face, Brielle stepped forward to head the man off. He looked ready have a brawl at a moments notice. "Conner, whatever are you racing about for?"

Conner planted himself in the doorway, a wild glitter sharpening his eyes. Thrusting one finger out to point at Erik, he gave a dangerous smile. "How dare you sir! You owe me an apology!"

Erik glanced at Brielle quickly, strangely feeling as if they had been caught doing something scandalous. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was particularly which had set the redhead off. Silently Erik closed his hands into fists at his sides, preparing for the imminent battle. _Ohh shit._


	16. Learning to Dance

**Oh my gosh! Thanks for all the great reviews! Especially those who have been reviewing almost every chapter. I really appreciate getting feed back from those who have been reading my story. **

Chapter 16: Learning to Dance

"Conner whatever are you racing about for?" Brielle asked shakily, irritated at how feeble her voice sounded, even to her own ears. Erik, the blasted man, was steadily driving her into the madhouse with his nasty remarks and bone melting apologies. It had been years since anyone had been able to rile her so. She was sure her cheeks were blushing bright red at that very moment. Damn him!

Apparently choosing to ignore his sister, Conner planted himself in the doorway, a wild scoundrel's smirk sharpening his features. Thrusting one figure into the air to point rudely at Erik, he suddenly exclaimed, "How dare you sir! You owe me an apology!"

Without turning her head from her brother, Brielle could physically feel Erik immediately stiffen behind her. A sigh escaped between her lips at the thought of having to patch them up again. In the five days since Conner arrived, the two men had stepped lightly around each other. Both, apparently, were not used to sharing space with another man.

Lord, it constantly amazed her how strange the males of the species truly were. Men had a complex simplicity in their every action and thought which continued to mystify her to this day. Though to be fair, Brielle was willing to acknowledge the main reason Erik and Conner weren't getting along; their personalities were the complete polar opposites of each other. Erik's dark and moody silences clashed violently with Conner's open and boisterous comedy.

Despite this she would not tolerate brawling in her household. Unfortunately, if Erik's quickly darkening expression was any indication, she wouldn't be able to stop them.

"An apology sir?" Erik inquired politely from behind Brielle, as he took a step forward. "And what, may I ask, am I to apologize for?" Though his words were softly spoken there was a bite to them, giving away the tension racing through his body.

Conner nodded vigorously at Erik's quiet inquiry; his expression suddenly melted into a good natured grin. "You are a musician and you didn't tell me!"

A moments silence followed Conner's question before Brielle raised a hasty hand to cover the relieved laugh bubbling in her throat. Thank God. She glanced over her shoulder at Erik, immediately loosing her self control at the expression upon his face. The man's normally hard mouth was slack now in astonishment, his serious dark brow comically high.

When her laughter burst out from behind her hand, Erik shot her an irritated glare. The sight of him struggling to hold on to the vexed expression only sent her into another peel of laughter.

"I am sorry," she managed to say between giggles. "It is just that you looked so surprised!"

Slowly Erik relaxed his stance as she continued to fight against the hilarity of the moment, the exasperation fading from his wind swept blue eyes when they settled upon her flushed face. Brielle suddenly stopped laughing when a smile played at the corners of his stern mouth. God, he was gorgeous when he wasn't glaring at her.

Conner, missing the subtle interaction between Erik and Brielle, stepped forward. Aria skipped along behind him, a plain black violin case clutched in her arms. "You must tell me, what do you play? Just the piano or a little bit of everything?"

Brielle smiled at the excitement she heard in her brother's voice. The poor man had endured an entire childhood with a sister who couldn't string two notes together. It must be terribly exciting for him to realize a fellow musician was so close at hand.

The moment Erik's eyes left her face and turned to her brother's, she became aware that she had been holding her breath. Shakily, Brielle breathed out as she raised a hand to her burning cheeks. What was it exactly about him that made her so self conscious? His burning eyes? His knowing silences?

"I can play anything that will make music," Erik replied haughtily. His response prompted a laugh from the redheaded man as he crossed the room. A laugh which immediately set another scowl upon the masked man's face.

"Can you indeed?" Conner asked enthusiastically, coming to stand directly in front of the other man, his large hands rubbing together in excitement like a child.

"I wouldn't say it if I couldn't," came the terse response, as Erik's lips thinned due to Conner's close proximity and his flippant attitude.

Ignoring the unfriendly undertones in the other man's voice Conner clapped a hand on Erik's shoulder and grinned. "Excellent! I can't tell you how thrilled I am to know there is a fellow musician in the household. Not to say I don't enjoy tickling the ivories with Aria now and then, but the child can't read a single note of sheet music yet."

"I d-don't like those d-dumb p-papers!" the child screamed as if on cue, latching one dimpled hand onto her Uncle's pant leg. "I don't l-like the v-violin either!"

Patting the babe on the head Conner smiled down at her. "There now, love. No one is going to make you think differently." Apparently satisfied, Aria flashed a smile and handed over the violin case to her Uncle's waiting hands.

Straightening, the black case cradled in his arms, Conner gestured to a pair of wingback chairs. "Come sit down. I don't know how familiar you are with violins," he began, his voice lowering to a hushed whisper as he sat down and flipped open the case's clasps, "but I am sure this will be a treat."

When Erik merely continued to stand where he had been, his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest, Brielle stepped forward. "Excuse Conner's excitement. With his demanding schedule it isn't often he gets to consort on a personal level with other musicians. Or show off his instrument."

"I am not showing off Brielle! My violin is genuinely interesting!"

"Of course it is," Brielle replied with a smile before turning her eyes back to Erik's face, gently placing a hand on his elbow. He stiffened momentarily at her touch out of reflex before relaxing immediately. As she continued to grin up at him expectantly, the frowning man slowly unfolded his arms with a sigh and walked across the room to sit next to Conner.

As the boys settled in next to each other, Erik with a glare and Conner with a grin, Brielle reached up and unclasped the heavy winter cloak she still wore. She was actually surprised that Erik had given into playing along with her brother's silliness. It proved he was at least trying to behave himself and control his temper, a fact which made her extremely happy.

His eyes flickered back to her from across the room, accusation glittering in his look, before lowering to the violin Conner now held in his hands. Brielle's smile grew as she watched shocked color slowly infuse Erik's rugged features. When his mouth fell completely open, Conner let out a deep chuckle.

"I told you it was interesting."

"Interesting!" Erik stammered as he reached out and traced a finger down the body of the instrument, "Do you know what this is?"

"Indeed I do. One of Stradivarius' finest works. And isn't she a lovely sight?" Conner exclaimed, holding the object of his affection up so that the late afternoon sunlight warmed the rich mahogany wood and glinted off the layers of varnish.

"I have only seen one other like it. A violinist at the Opera years ago owned such a violin, but even his was not as fine as this one," Erik murmured, his voice lowered out of respect for the masterpiece before him. With eyes shining in awe, he hesitantly reached out and brushed his fingertips along the curves and ridges carved by a long dead craftsman, unable to keep his hands off it.

Conner grinned impishly at the sudden tenderness in Erik's eyes. "I suppose I really don't have to ask but…would you care to give her a try?"

Startled blue eyes leapt up to Conner's smiling face. An almost childlike uncertainty flickered across Erik's hard features. "You would…You would allow _me_ to play upon this beautiful thing?"

His smile sobering at the question, Conner nodded. "Of course sir," he stated positively. "It would be an honor for a fellow musician to bring her strings to life. In return I ask only that you do her justice." With both hands Conner held out his prized possession for Erik to take.

Brielle watched the complex emotions flickering like candlelight behind Erik's bottomless blue eyes for one silent moment. A thick ball of unexpected emotion swelled up into her throat when slowly the dark haired man reached out and took the violin from Conner's hands.

Raising the violin to his chin Erik stood, accepting the bow when Conner handed it to him. He paused, poised on the brink of setting bow to string, his softening eyes seeking out Brielle's across the room. A sweet bolt of warmth shivered up her spine when those stormy eyes settled upon her. And then he smiled, nearly sending her into a faint as he drew out the first heavenly note.

Hurriedly Brielle sought out a chair and sank boneless into it when finally Erik's eyes released her. Aria came and quietly sat upon her mother's lap as both girls settled down, already enthralled with the unearthly sounds emanating from the violin. Wrapping her arms about her daughter, Brielle tilted her head to the side letting her cheek fall against Aria's head.

The first several bars of music which slid out from under Erik's fingers were like nothing Brielle had ever heard before, deep, rich, and haunting. It pulled at the darkest recesses of her mind. Then somehow, with the violin weeping all around her, wailing in her very mind, Brielle's thoughts turned unbidden to her day at the hospital.

And slowly, as her eyes fluttered shut, the crying of the violin faded behind a different kind of sound; the moans of torn bodies and beaten spirits filled her mind. Brielle's body went numb when the groans grew louder. Wailing in every corner of her brain, beating against the confines of her skull, screaming, screaming.

Far away Brielle, heard Erik's music soften and painfully she forced her eyes open just before the image of a blood splattered wall could focus within her head. A trembling began deep within her belly, working its way out until her hands shook slightly against Aria's shoulders.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied her hands and stilled her features, pushing all dark thoughts aside. Her face relaxed into an expression of peace as Erik's music, now a soothing and soft melody, slowly began to wipe away the horror of the day.

She glanced up and started when she found Erik's intense gaze fixed upon her from across the room. Lazily he drew out the last note as if he was unwilling to let it go. With one final flourish of the bow Erik ended the song, lowering the violin to his side. Funny Brielle hadn't noticed before, but he was breathing hard. Almost as if the exertion of pulling the music from his mind had put a strain on his body.

Not liking the intimacy of his eyes upon her in the silence of that moment Brielle quickly brought her hands together in applause. "That was wonderful Erik," she said, cheering up as Aria hooted approval.

Aria leapt from her mother's lap, her hands thrown up in the air in delight. "You are j-just as g-good as Uncle Cah-cah-Conn…" the girl squealed, too excited to mind the fact she couldn't finish her sentence. Racing over to Erik she latched onto his pant leg, stuffing a thumb into her mouth as she grinned up at him.

Standing, Brielle smiled quietly as she watched Erik shift uncomfortably under her daughter's attention. He obviously wasn't used to dealing with children; yet despite that, he had a natural talent for it. It seemed he had many talents she wasn't yet aware of.

Laughing, Conner slapped his knee before jumping to his feet. "Wonderful! Damned if you wouldn't give me a run for my money if we squared off. I haven't heard something that original in years. Were you a violinist at the Opera?"

Caught off guard by the question, Erik covered for his surprise with another scowl. "I don't see how that is any business of yours. I…" Brielle suddenly cleared her throat while arching her white eyebrows in his direction, giving him a very pointed look. The exasperated man impatiently snapped his mouth shut and narrowed his eyes at her, a muscle in his jaw ticking out his annoyance. She was going to make sure he kept his promise and acted civilized even if she had to bully him every step of the way.

Reluctantly Erik turned and handed Conner back the violin, careful of it even in his riled state. "No, I was not a violinist for the Opera," he ground out between clenched teeth, the effort of controlling the biting comments lodged in his throat stiffening his back and shoulders. Slowly, like air being let out of a balloon, he forced himself to relax. A damn-the-world smirk curled his lips at the corners. "I was more of a consultant to the managers there," he said, the smirk growing into a rakish smile.

Conner nodded while rolling his eyes. "Ah managers! I would rather work in a pit of poisonous snakes. How could you stand it?"

A grin suddenly lit up Erik's face, as if the subject of distasteful managers had finally broken the ice between the two musicians. "I barely made it out with my sanity intact, I assure you."

At that Conner gave a boisterous laugh and slapped Erik heartily on the back. And if the look on Erik's face was any indication, the man wasn't quite sure what to make of the friendly contact. "You sure have a wonderful sense of humor for being such a crotchety old man," the redhead remarked, a devilish grin lighting his eyes at the barb.

"Excuse me?"

Hastily shifting his focus to his sister, Conner swaggered across the room and wrapped one arm about her thin waist. "Brielle, my lovely lass!" At his words Brielle couldn't help but smile.

"Here we are allowing our poor guest to do all the entertaining tonight. We should be ashamed of ourselves."

"I can't be bothered being ashamed of myself. I am always too busy being ashamed for you!"

"Ah, words of love from my kind and beautiful sister," Conner sighed, the chuckle he was holding in sending his stomach into a fit of shivers. "Come now Brielle; it is our duty as Irishmen to show this son of France what a true good time is!"

The smile suddenly fell from her face as a sneaking suspicion of what was coming next popped into her head. "Absolutely not."

"Come on Bri! Just this once. Come on!"

"No. It is entirely out of the question! I am tired Conner. I have been _working_ all day."

Grinning like a madman, Conner moved into the center of the room, dragging Brielle with him. "All the more reason to unwind! You know I won't leave you alone unless you do!" And she knew then that he was pestering her so as to get her mind off of the day's unpleasantness.

Raising her eyes to heaven to pray for patience, Brielle was silent for a moment. Then with a dramatic sigh she lowered her gaze to her brother. "Fine, alright." When he whooped in victory and danced away from her she glared. "But only for a little while. Or I swear to God that…"

"Brielle love, it isn't nice to swear," Conner cut her off merrily as he ushered both Erik and Aria into chairs, the dark haired man looking utterly confused and the child looking elated.

"I'll start you off nice and slow," her brother said as he raised the violin to his chin.

Fisting her hands onto her hips, Brielle let out a cocky chuckle. "Don't bother boyo. I'll be leaving you in the dust in either case."

Mystified by the exchange going on between brother and sister, Erik leaned over and whispered to Aria. "Do you know what is happening?"

"M-Momma is going to d-dance!" Aria murmured, her eyes twinkling with excitement. Nodding, Erik leaned back in his chair his arms crossing over his chest. His face was impassive, but his eyes were alight with interest.

"Ha, there's the Bri I know and love." And with that said, Conner set bow to string, making the precious instrument in his hands jump to life. His fingers blurred, moving from chord to chord faster than the eye could follow, the bow sawing almost violently against the strings. As he settled into a lively pastoral ditty, his right foot began to tap out the racing beat.

Brielle smiled at how quickly he had set the tempo, seeing it to be the challenge it was. Narrowing her eyes at him, she could feel her heart begin to race with the excitement of the moment. Reaching down, she hiked up her skirts to a point well above her knees. A decidedly unseemly height, but all of a sudden she didn't care. How good it felt to just not care, to give into the silliness of her girlhood. Things had been simple then.

Holding her elbows down at her sides, Brielle began to move her feet, keeping her entire torso still. Her riding boots thumped against the Persian rug as her feet sped up and matched the blurring pace Conner had set. She laughed aloud as the exertion of the fast pace broke a light sweat out on her forehead.

Braving a glance Erik's way, she was slightly embarrassed to see the open amazement plastered over his features. To his credit, his eyes were fixed upon her moving feet and not her knees as she had first expected. Apparently he had never seen a traditional Irish dance before.

Giving her skirts a light flick, she executed a graceful series of kicks. Reaching out a hand she beckoned Aria to come and dance with her; the little girl happily obliged. Slowing her steps to compensate for her daughter's inexperience, Brielle dropped her skirts and settled into a waltz - twirling her daughter around and around until the child squealed in delight. Conner instantly switched from the rowdy Irish jig to a more appropriate tune, matching Brielle and Aria's steps with a slow lilting melody.

As the pair whirled about the center of the room, their faces glowed in the fading winter sunlight. Aria twirled away from her mother having grown bored with the slow pace and promptly fell on her bottom, too dizzy to even walk any more. But she continued to laugh, the sound clear and musical, free from the stuttering which plagued her speech.

Placing a hand on her forehead to calm the dizziness spinning about her head, Brielle couldn't help but laugh. She turned her eyes to where Erik sat and grinned at him. While she had been dancing the tough-looking man had sat forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his thighs, his chin cupped in one hand.

In the weeks since his arrival she had never seen him so relaxed before. A smile graced his hard features and when Aria fell over onto her fanny, Brielle watched as laughter filled his normally somber eyes. Perhaps it was the abnormal lightness of his expression which made her suddenly forget herself and boldly stroll across the room toward him.

When she neared his chair, those laughing eyes slowly rose to meet hers. Before she lost her nerve, Brielle held out a hand to him. "Will you dance with me Erik?"

The sparkle in his eyes dimmed slightly behind a curtain of confusion. The strange vulnerability he had shown when Conner offered him the violin returned as he stared up at her. "Excuse me?"

"Dance with me. A waltz is meant for two."

As if he couldn't believe his ears Erik gaped up at her, dropping his hands into his lap. "I don't know how," he said simply, a slight blush rising up to stain his cheeks. "I mean, I have never had much need to learn how."

"That's all right. I suppose you will be learning how today then. For I have need of a partner," she said, smiling at his uncharacteristic uncertainty. Leaning forward, she took one of his hands and drew him to his feet. The poor man was in such a state of embarrassment and so busy trying to hide it that he didn't even fight her.

Silently Brielle took Erik's right hand with her left. "This is a structured dance. Each person has a framework in which they stay. Your right hand in mine and your left about my waist." When he merely continued to stare at her, she took his other hand and placed it just above her waist.

"The steps aren't very difficult once you learn the rhythm," she said, speaking over the sound of her brother's violin. "Follow my lead."

Brielle took the first step of the waltz; Erik following her after a split second of hesitation. The pair stumbled slightly when their steps didn't match correctly. With a smile, Brielle repositioned her feet and began over again.

They moved slowly in a wide arching path about the room. His head bent slightly to watch the progress of their feet. After several rotations of the parlor, their pace picked up as Erik grew more familiar with the movements of the waltz.

"You are a fast learner Erik. A natural born dancer," she said with a laugh, his gaze rising to her face when she spoke.

"A d-dancer like M-Momma!" Aria shrieked from the sidelines, her boisterous squeal eliciting another smile on Erik face.

"Do you think you can handle leading now?" Brielle asked while blowing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Let's see, shall we?" he replied, biting his lower lip in concentration when they switched leads.

Once again the pace slowed as Erik acclimated himself to the new angle on the steps. He quickly overcame the difficulty with the change and began to twirl Brielle about the room with confidence. As the pace sped up and the room about them blurred, time seemed to slow.

Nothing remained outside of that moment. The hospital, the worries of a widowed mother - all disappeared in the happiness of dancing with a friend. As his confidence grew, Erik dared to improvise upon the steps. He boldly dipped Brielle down till the top of her head was mere inches from the ground. She shrieked in surprise at the move as she clung to his shoulders, trying to keep her balance.

Conner hooted in boisterous approval of the masked man's daring from across the room. Brielle herself burst out in peals of laughter as Erik drew her up again; clutching at him, she fought the dizziness whirling about her head. She smacked him in the shoulder as the laughter paralyzed her.

Apparently something about that particular moment, her expression, or her laughter, broke down a portion of Erik's reserves. He tilted his head back and burst into waves of deep laughter. His entire body shook with the force of the sound and Brielle had the unique experience of feeling the vibrations of his happiness through their close contact.

"Don't know how to dance indeed!" she managed to say between giggles as her gaze rose to meet his.

"Like you said I am a quick learner," he teased, his laughter slowly stilling as his eyes dipped to her smiling mouth.

In that moment, Brielle suddenly realized how close they actually were. When Erik had raised her up from the dip, somehow her arms had become wrapped about his neck. The length of her body was now pressed firmly against him and one of his arms was still wrapped about her waist.

The realization was shocking. Not because the intimacy of the close contact, but because she found herself liking it.

Immediately she eased away from Erik's embrace by dropping her hands from his neck to lay flat against his chest. He released her gently as she pulled away from him, but as she turned her head to the side, Brielle was certain she caught a flickering of a dangerous hunger in his eyes. Dangerous and thrilling.

Aria, bless her, broke the intensity of the moment by racing across the room and throwing herself onto Erik's leg. He started slightly at the child's weight slamming into him, but quickly softened his features when he looked down at her. Brielle stepped farther away from him, trying desperately to calm the quaking within her stomach.

"M-My turn! Dance with mah-mah-m-me!" she demanded as only a child could.

With a great deal of seriousness, Erik seemed to consider her statement to great length. Aria began to whine and pluck at his pant leg at his silence, but she quickly stopped when he laid a hand on her downy head and said, "It would be an honor to dance with such a lovely little girl." This pleased the child greatly and she grinned happily up at him, sticking a thumb into her mouth.

Brielle smiled quietly at the scene. Erik was so good to Aria. Despite his moodiness, he was a good man. She hadn't been wrong in that assumption. And his rare but increasing signs of kindness were softening the ice she had built about her heart. She didn't much like it. Such things were dangerous for a woman who had vowed she would never care for another man.

As Conner brought his violin back up to his chin, Brielle's eyes drifted over to the clock sitting upon the mantel. With a gasp that drew everyone's attention, Brielle cursed rather loudly. "Good Lord! It can't be that late already! I haven't even started dinner yet!"

And with that Brielle fled the room. Fled the disturbing feelings stirring within her body, but most of all fled those that stirred within her heart. She hurried to the kitchen to whip up something simple for everyone to eat, hoping that no one had guessed the reason for her hasty retreat.

She let out a shaky breath and smoothed her hands down her skirts as she heard the sounds of Conner's violin start again down the hallway. "From now on I will have to be more careful. Just keep my distance…just be friendly and nothing else. It should be simple really." _Shouldn't it?_


	17. Confessions of Jealousy

**Ahh! So sorry that this chapter took so long in coming out! Midterms last week kicked my butt so bad! And then I went out of town this weekend! I have had zero time to write until just today! So here you are everyone. Hope you like this next installment. This chapter was actually meant to continue on but it came to such a good stopping point that I decided to put the rest in a separate chapter. **

**Oh and once again thanks for each and every one of the wonderful reviews! I appreciate all of them!**

**Disclaimer: Blah don't know if I have to keep writing this but I don't own the phantom characters. So sad. The rest I do own though. So hurray for that!**

Chapter 17: Confessions of Jealousy

It was late March now, but winter had yet to give up its hold on the French countryside just outside of Paris. Ankle deep snow covered the ground in waves, an icy ocean suspended in time. The white rippled off into the distance, rolling over the stone walls lining the road and blanketing the evergreens close to the Donovan cottage.

Tiny tracks of nameless animals crisscrossed the open yard between the house and the small barn close by, marring the pristine landscape. Human feet had also left their mark in the white. Trails slashed muddily across the small yard between the house, the modest barn, and the small frozen pond set back amongst the pines.

The pond lay smooth and still behind the house, reflecting the cold light of the distant sun - its surface scored with white marks left by fine-edged skate blades. A month had passed since the evening Erik and Brielle had danced in the parlor, the days blurring together within the comfort of growing familiarity.

The battle of wills within the household had settled down remarkably. Conner and Erik were easier around each other, able to fall back upon their shared love of music when forced to converse. Secretly though, Erik still considered Conner to be an anomaly in the human population. No one could be that open and comedic about life. The redhead's unguarded nature was disquieting - his constant smiles misleading. Though well concealed, there was more to Brielle's brother than he let on; a fierce intelligence burned behind those smiling eyes.

Brielle, though more conservative with her expressions, was nearly as bad as her brother. Her lamp-like eyes softened with genuine, if wary, kindness as the ice slowly faded from her personality over the weeks. The woman disappeared every morning at seven on the dot and returned again at three in the afternoon, leaving her daughter in the care of her irresponsible brother and himself, a near stranger. And lately Conner wasn't even home; his concert schedule drew him away for days at a time, leaving Erik alone in the house with Aria. Such trust was mind-boggling. It was stupid. It was endearing.

And yet he couldn't bring himself to trust her. Couldn't bring himself to call her his friend as she so easily referred to him. It was beyond his ability, and even though a secret part of himself longed to say that one word to another, friend, he knew he did not deserve to.

Despite the leaps and bounds Erik had made with the senior members of the Sinclair/Donovan family, it was Aria whom had managed to pry affection from his guarded heart. Erik had spent every morning of the last month with the girl, tutoring her as he had promised he would.

Erik had always been an excellent teacher - a shocking talent considering his solitary nature. He expected the best of his students and could be cruel in his methodology. Christine, he remembered, had often been driven to tears by his lessons. And yet, on their first day together Erik had discovered these methods were not exactly appropriate for Aria.

One biting correction from him had prompted the oddest response from the child. She calmly opened her cherub's mouth and shrieked at the top of her lungs before falling to the ground and thrashing upon the floor. Erik had been in a panic, thinking she was having a fit of some sort, when Conner calmly walked past the room, his nose in a newspaper. The redhead merely glanced up and grinned at him, as if to say, "_It is your problem today!"_

Flabbergasted, Erik figured Aria's behavior must be normal, considering Conner's nonchalant reaction. And so he did the only thing a man can do when faced with a screaming toddler; he ignored her until she got tired and stopped the tantrum.

He learned two things from the disquieting episode. Firstly, that Aria was indeed a child rather than a mini adult; secondly, that he needed to seriously modify his teaching methods. As the days had passed, he had gentled his reproaches until they transformed into words of encouragement; he had relaxed the tense frown upon his face to an easy smile.

The changes Erik felt stirring within himself reflected those of the child he was teaching. Every day she made a new breakthrough. Every day her words came easier from the prison of her treacherous mouth. And every day he felt the guards about his heart crumble all around him, the darkness eroding away under the unnatural light of compassion found within the walls of the Donovan household.

A sudden icy wind raced down the collar of Erik's borrowed winter coat, startling him out of his musings. The bitter temperature reminded him of his reason for venturing outside in the first place. With a shrug he set out across the small yard, following the trail of footsteps leading the way to the wind-worn barn nearby. The structure stood about fifty yards away from the house, weather beaten and gray. One of the double doors hung slightly askew upon its hinges.

He paused just outside the door way, one gloved hand rising to graze over the rough wood. At his touch the door swung in slightly, creaking mournfully. It had been a long time since anyone had oiled the hinges - since anyone had lived here who was strong enough to work this modest land.

Erik made a mental note to ask Conner if there was any grease about the house which he could use to quiet the hinges. And while he was at it, the wood pile was looking low; perhaps he could split some logs as well.

The hinges continued to squeal as he pushed the door completely open. Erik waited for the distinctive odor of the animals to overwhelm him. In his mind, the stench of the carnival, of rotting hay and filthy animals, filled his nostrils and made his stomach roll with bad memories. The images of cold iron bars and faded yellow tents flickered through his mind like moths about a lantern. A moment of panic set his heart to palpitating in his chest as he stood in the open doorway, the cold winter's light barely cutting through the darkness of the barn.

But as the wind cut through the thick wool of his coat, the expected stench did not come. True, he could smell the animals in the barn, but everything felt…healthy, wholesome. The air was infused with the sweet dusty scent of clean hay and old wood. The panic subsided within him as he stepped hurriedly into the warm darkness of the barn, shutting the door behind him.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim interior of the barn as he silently stepped around the small black carriage stored just inside the doorway. One of the two family draft horses raised its great head and gazed at him over its stall door with large liquid eyes as he passed it by. A cow lowed from the far end of the building, its mournful wail followed by high bell-like laughter which drifted off into a soft soothing song.

The quiet lilting song grew louder as he made his way down the row of stalls to the other side of the barn. Rounding the corner of the final stall, Erik caught sight of Brielle sitting perched upon a three legged stool milking a tawny brown cow. Cool white light filtered down from the single window near the rafters, illuminating Brielle's snowy hair like a halo about her head. As she sang the girl tilted her head slightly, resting her cheek against the cow's side.

For some reason Erik hesitated in the shadows about the stalls, unwilling for a moment to disturb the tranquil scene before him. Despite his silence Brielle suddenly stopped singing and raised her head, her eyes fixing upon him in the darkness. She smiled up at him a little self consciously.

"Have you been standing there long?"

"No," he said simply, leaning back against the side of the final stall. "You sing to the cow while you milk her?" A smile and a teasing note crept into his voice at the question.

"Well I…it helps to calm her," she began, flustered by the fact he had been listening to her. "I know I don't have a voice fit for the Opera house but I…"

"No, you are right you don't," he began, surprised by the hurt in her eyes. Quickly he continued, "Perhaps it is better. Fit for lullabies and Irish dancing."

Pleased by his compliment, she turned her face away to hide the blush rising in her cheeks, continuing the steady rhythm of her milking. The swish-swishing sound of each stream of milk hitting the bucket filled the slightly uncomfortable silence between them.

"Tell me are you good at everything you do Brielle? Or do I only ever catch you at the things you are best at?" he asked, a note of sarcasm deepening his tone. "You seem almost fearless."

"Don't be silly," she answered with a laugh. "I am terrible at plenty of things. And I certainly am not fearless."

"Don't try to be modest. I hate it when people try to act modest," Erik sighed.

She seemed startled by this. "Whatever are you talking about?"

He pushed off the stall he was leaning against and stepped forward into the light. "You rescue and befriend unconscious men from Opera houses, you write medical papers, you give your time at that hospital, you run a household and finally you can milk cows. What is left that you cannot do? I have yet to ever see you back down from any situation. Tell me one thing that you have ever been afraid of!"

"You sound jealous Erik," she said thoughtfully, resting her cheek against the cow's side once again.

He huffed at her statement, making her smile. "Jealous of a woman - please!"

She ignored the arrogance in his voice. "You don't have to be snotty. And I have plenty of things I am unable to do. No matter how hard I practice, I cannot hear the music in the air as you seem to."

"Perhaps, but not everyone has the talent for music. And you did not answer the second part of my question."

"I don't have to tell you anyth…," she began before noticing the amusement her irritation had sparked in his eyes. "Fine if I tell you, will you drop the subject?"

"Of course, if it is your desire."

"I am afraid of being useless," she said simply with a shrug, before clamping her mouth shut and shooting a pointed look his way. After a moment, a weak laugh escaped her tight-lipped mouth. "I was just thinking how odd it is that you think I can do everything, seeing how it is I who am jealous of you."

"Excuse me?" he sputtered, his eyebrows drawing low over his glittering eyes.

"I would think it obvious really," she said softly, apparently missing his shock. "I haven't any natural talents. I wasn't born with a passion fixed within my very being as you and Conner and even Aria are. All of my abilities stem from my observations of others. I suppose you could say my gift is in mimicking the gifts of others." Slowly Brielle turned her eyes from the ground up to his face. "People like you make it all seem so easy. I envy you the talent you have."

"Do not tease me Brielle," he said tensely, suddenly becoming angry with her. She knew next to nothing of his life. If she did, he was certain as hell she wouldn't be saying such ignorant childish things. "You can't honestly say you wish for…" He made a vague gesture in the air, intending to point to the mask upon his face, but for some reason the look in her eyes stopped him.

"For what Erik?" she asked sharply, her hands stilling at the cow's udder. "Go ahead say it. You have been dying to say it for weeks now." When he remained stubbornly silent, she shook her head in irritation, several locks of her hair falling free about her face. "How could I possibly admire you or your talents when your face is so disfigured? Isn't that what you were going to say?"

"Shut your mouth you wretched woman." His eyes flashed dangerously at her words, but she ignored the warning signs.

"In all your time here, what have I done to convince you so thoroughly that I am so shallow as to consider a single physical attribute to be more important than the whole of a man's character?"

"You don't even know what you are talking about. How could you possibly know what it is like to…," he hissed, clenching his fists at his sides.

"What?" she interrupted. "Hm? What don't I know? I suppose I couldn't know what it is like to be stared at? Or to be jeered at in the streets? No, no I couldn't know such things with white hair and colorless eyes! So then I definitely couldn't know what it was like to be afraid to go to school when I was young because the children used to throw rocks at me?"

"It isn't the same thing you dramatic little viper!" he bellowed, unable to keep his normally tenuous grip upon his temper any longer. One gloved hand rose to cover the mask upon his face, as if to further protect what lay beneath from her piercing eyes.

"How dare you try and compare your life to mine! What are the odd childish insult and rare cruelty compared to…," He stopped suddenly, horrified that he had almost confessed the most intimate experiences of his childhood with this ill mannered witch. "It isn't the same. People stared at you because you are beaut…"

"Don't say it! Beauty is such a deceiving thing - especially on women. It makes men believe all manner of stupid things. It makes them think a pretty face indicates obedience, or a submissive nature, or even that a girl will make a good wife!" She bared her teeth, her bodice heaving in fury. "Oh, that was another thing I was bad at! John had just begun to realize that when he was killed!"

Her final words echoed in the sudden silence which fell hard between them, stretching taut like barbed wire between two fence posts. "People find a way to judge each other no matter what they look like!" She turned from him then, closing her eyes tiredly. "All my life I have seen the worst of what nature and war can do to the human body. Which one was it for you Erik? Nature or War?"

He stood ridged and silent, having retreated from the light illuminating Brielle back into the shadows near the stalls. Her questions came hard and fast, beating against the walls still standing about his heart. A tremor started deep inside him, making its way through his body until his hands shook. The fury in his eyes was no longer able to completely hide the broken soul behind them.

"I was born with this face," he finally whispered through tight lips. Waiting, tense and ready for her to turn away, to show some sign of uncertainty, or worse, pity.

Brielle simply nodded with a sigh, the fight draining out of her. "Why do you still wear it, Erik?"

"I would never inflect my features on such good people as this family," he growled backing further away from her, from her words, from her damned questions.

Ignoring his words she stood and advanced upon him, leaving the circle of light where she had been sitting and joining him in the warmth of the shadows. "Why do you hide yourself in darkness when it is so clear you were born to shine? Why do you allow your gifts to go unseen?" she asked quietly, a frown wrinkling the skin between her brows. One of her hands rose hesitantly to trail down the edge of his mask, the tips of her fingers just barely kissing the corner of his jaw before he jerked away.

And the last surviving remains of the fortress about his heart fell away under the light which still glowed in her eyes, even as she stood in the darkness. He was left speechless at her words, at the consequences of them. Without the numbness to protect him, fear took hold. For now he was stepping into the unknown - and it terrified him.

Just when the panic began to infuse the sad blue of his eyes, Brielle turned her head and stepped away, giving him space and retaking her seat upon the milking stool. She was quiet for a time, uncannily sensing the need for silence, before turning her head back to her task. "Is there a reason you ventured outside then, or did you just finally decide to explore a little?"

Taking several steadying breaths, Erik was finally able to reply without his voice betraying the whirlwind of emotion clouding his mind. "Aria wanted me to ask you if you were going to make her a cake today." He paused, unconsciously stepping forward, away from the shadows he had been hiding in. "Why does she think you will be making a cake?"

"Well, it is her birthday today and I make a cake every year on her birthday. Today she turns four years old." She straightened then, pushing her stool back with a scrape. "Time moves so quickly sometimes. It feels as if it was just yesterday when she was born." She smiled then and stood, sliding the filled bucket from underneath the heifer before it could be toppled into the straw.

"Have you never had a birthday cake then Erik?" she asked, huffing slightly with the weight of the bucket pulling on her arms.

Reaching out he carefully relieved her of the bucket, his action earning him a grateful smile. A smile which he found himself able to return. "No. I can't say that I have. I don't recall birthdays being a priority when I was young."

"What a shame, a birthday is such an enjoyable occasion," she said with a frown. "Though that reminds me. Now that we are on the subject, how old are you?" Brielle asked, the oddest expression of concentration suddenly overtaking the frown.

"I would say probably thirty-five years, or thereabouts."

"Don't you know?" she asked, startled.

"Not exactly, no," he replied slowly.

"Well, _about_ thirty five would make you _about_ five years older than Conner and _about_ ten years older than me." A teasing glitter lit up her eyes as she poked his shoulder with a grin, all signs of her earlier anger faded now or expertly hidden. "Why I had no idea you were such a terribly old man!" she finally exclaimed.

For some reason her comment struck him as being terribly funny and he could not stop the chuckle from bursting unexpectedly out of his mouth. The milk in his hands shook from the mirth trembling through his body. "How dare you woman!" he managed to say, trying to sound outraged and failing.

His laughter apparently pleased Brielle for some reason, for a delighted smile broke out over her face, making her eyes sparkle with mirth. The sight of that smile affected him more than if she had touched him - more than if she had punched him in the gut. He could feel the warmth of her laughing eyes as they trailed over his cheek, his neck, and then away. In fact, he was beginning to feel warm all over - a calming contented feeling that was a far cry from the burning heat he recognized as lust. Lust he was familiar with; he had always felt it with Christine and now even when Brielle was near. No, this was different; it was better.

"Come Erik; if you keep me company while I try and bake the cake I will let you lick the icing spoon."

"It would be this old man's pleasure to accompany you," he said, following her as they made their way to the door.

A patch of slick mud near the door sent Brielle's dainty lady's boots sliding out from under her. Automatically, Erik offered his free arm for her to take as the pair exited the barn. When she easily took it, and held on long past the danger of slipping, he was glad suddenly for braving the cold and coming to the barn, glad of their bickering and her damned irritating questions, glad to finally feel the weight of sorrow begin to ease and fall free of his shoulders.

And then he knew what that wonderful warmth growing inside him was. It was happiness.

Top of Form

Bottom of Form


	18. A Birthday Surprise

**Announcement! Announcement! I now have a wonderful new editor! Her name is Juliana and she is a genius. Since last week she has nearly edited all of my previous chapters. I will be posting the new versions of each chapter over the next week or so. It is amazing what an extra set of eyes can do! So a great big thanks to Juliana! **

Chapter 18: A Birthday Surprise

Brielle paced the length of her kitchen while vigorously beating the chocolate cake mix in her arms. This was her second attempt at making the cake, a fact which was highly irritating. The first pan had burnt in the oven when her attention had been pulled away from the task for a moment, a split second.

Oh, who was she kidding? She had been too busy staring at Erik to notice the smoke drifting out of the oven. Brielle had been trying to puzzle out what exactly it was about him that was so alluring. Though the mask upon his face was an obvious source for the deep mystery which seemed to saturate his every pore, it could not explain away the magnetic pull of his personality. Whenever he came into the room, her eyes automatically fixed upon him. Every time he spoke, her attention was jerked to his words. His every movement, every expression was utterly captivating.

She sighed deeply and glared at the vexing man across the room. He was now lazily leaning against the kitchen table, one foot crossed easily over the other. Brielle quickly narrowed her eyes at Erik when she noticed his finger dipping into the icing bowl.

Stabbing her finger at him across the room, she squared her shoulders. "I will not tell you again Erik! Keep your fingers out of that bowl or so help me God…" her threat dwindled off unfinished. He looked sufficiently sheepish to convince her he would do as she asked.

When she turned her attention to pouring the batter into the pan, Erik secretly dipped his finger back into the icing for another taste. "I was under the impression when I agreed to accompany you here that there would be an icing spoon involved."

"That is only _after_ we ice the cake!"

Erik sighed heavily and pushed off the table to pace about the room. "If you hadn't burnt the first one the blasted thing would already be done."

She wrinkled her nose at him and placed the pan into the oven. "Well excuse me. I suppose you can add baking to the list of things I don't do well. Seeing as you are now keeping track."

"Had I known you were going to get hysterical I never would have asked that question in the first place."

When Brielle turned her head towards him, she caught sight of his hand reaching into the icing once again. Outraged, she snapped upright and marched across the room, snatching the bowl from the table. "What is wrong with you! You are worse than Aria is!" she exclaimed, trying to sound annoyed but laughing instead.

"I suppose I should be insulted, however, your daughter is an exceptional child. Therefore, I choose to take that as a compliment." His sinful mouth curved upward ever so slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

He was doing that more often now - teasing her and then smirking about it. She didn't know whether she should be happy about that or not. The development showed he was more comfortable now, a miracle in and of itself. But the man had a biting wit and sharp tongue in his kindest moments; his retorts left Brielle's in the dust on most occasions. It was hard to argue with a man who had an answer for everything.

"Do as you please then," she huffed, shaking her head and setting the icing bowl far from his reach. With a frown, she noticed the signs of the many finger trails through the chocolate. If she had let him, Brielle was certain he would have eaten half the frosting. Apparently Erik had a sweet tooth.

"Actually, I have been meaning to ask you a question," he said, ignoring the annoyance in her voice.

"Oh what is it?" Brielle sighed as she fanned herself with a yellow potholder, suddenly feeling oddly warm under his gaze.

"Her name, Aria that is, where does it come from? It is rather unusual. It isn't Irish is it?"

Brielle felt the irritated tension ease from her expression. "Heavens no, Aria isn't an Irish name. Actually her full name is Arianna but I only added the ending to make it more acceptable. We only call her that when she is in trouble."

"So why did you wish to name her something so untraditional then?"

A smile lit her features, the wary distance in her gray eyes fading. She forgot, for the moment, to be on guard. "The day she was born there was a terrible storm raging outside. I remember the lighting tore the sky to pieces and the thunder all but shook the house apart. It was a hard, bleak day but the moment I first held her in my arms all of that disappeared. The thunder, the rain, the anger at being alone all faded and I heard music in the air." She closed her eyes, gently tilting her head to the side as if listening to something.

"I heard music sweeter than all the choruses of heaven joined in harmony. Sometimes when I think about that day, I imagine that is what it must be like for Conner every day - hearing music like that playing through the mind. A silent symphony which plays only for you. I don't know how musicians can stand it - living with such exquisite intensity burning every note in their brain." She paused for a moment, wrapping her arms about her waist. "And so I named her Aria. It means melody."

When Brielle opened her eyes with a contented sigh, she was surprised to see how close Erik was to her. He had stopped pacing about the room and now stood within touching distance from her. An oddly intense expression tightening his features.

"You are the oddest woman I have ever met," he murmured, a crease forming between his brows as if she were a puzzle he was trying to figure out, his eyes becoming dark with confusion and some other unnamable emotion. Erik moved ever so slightly toward her and Brielle was suddenly terrified he would reach out and touch her. If he touched her now, she didn't know what she would do. And yet, she was frozen where she stood.

As his eyes burned into hers, images began to flicker to life within her head. In her mind she could clearly see herself wrapped in his arms, her mouth crushed against his. The feel of his lips brushing along the corner of her mouth, the tickle of his breath upon her cheek were more vivid for a moment than the coolness of the kitchen counter under her hands or the smell of baking in the air.

Clearing her throat, Brielle moved to step away from him, frightened by what his close proximity was doing to her. At her movement the fantasy faded from her mind, leaving her weak in the knees. Slowly she sank into a chair, terrified by the explicit thoughts which had so suddenly overpowered her senses. _If he knew what I was thinking just a moment ago…_

The man was dangerous. More dangerous than if he had suddenly picked up a knife and rammed it into her chest. It was her heart he was now threatening, she was sure of that now. Why else would she be thinking such scandalous things? _Damn it Brielle, you promised yourself to never care for another man. You promised!_

"My but you will spoil me with such lovely speeches," she suddenly said, breaking the tense silence. Her sarcasm had the effect she wanted. Erik turned his head away from her, breaking the chains his eyes had been wrapping about her. She was shocked to see a flicker of embarrassment cross his features before disappearing. What had he to be embarrassed about? It was she who had suddenly become the lecher.

Relieved to be free from his gaze, Brielle let out a sigh and closed her eyes. With one hand she rubbed at her right temple, trying to ease the twinge of pressure growing there. All the excitement was giving her a headache.

"Thank you for staying with me while I made the cake. It will be done soon, so if you would like to go do something else now I wouldn't mind."

He was quiet for a moment in thought before he silently pulled out a chair and sat down. "At the moment I don't believe there are any other pressing issues I must attend to. I might as well stay here."

Brielle couldn't help but smile at that. He was the only person she knew who could make saying, 'I would rather stay here,' sound so arrogant.

Later that evening, Brielle stood alone in the kitchen putting the final touches upon the cake. In the end it had come out slightly lopsided, but she was able to hide its asymmetrical shape with the icing. All in all she considered herself lucky that it had only taken two attempts to bake the wretched thing.

She stepped back from the table to survey the colored lettering she had just finished with a smile. At least her handwriting had always been lovely. It almost made up for the strange shape of the cake itself. Brielle looked up from her work when the sound of a piano duet suddenly broke into her thoughts.

No doubt it was Aria and Erik at it again. He had been trying to teach the child how to read sheet music for the two hours since Brielle had finally shooed him out of the kitchen. The attempt was not going well. Naturally talented though Aria was, she had no interest in the pages of music lying about the house. Even from this end of the house, Brielle could hear the child's whining in the pauses of the music.

Grinning, Brielle stuck four small white candles into the cake while imagining the expression which must be on Erik's face. He was always so good with the child, yet Brielle knew how it must cost him at times. She had never known a man with more of a temper, but never had she heard him raise his voice to her daughter. The gentleness he hid within him always caught her off guard.

Lighting the candles, Brielle turned and shouted down the hallway. "Everyone move into the dining room! It is time for the cake." At her words the piano music crashed to a halt; the following silence was punctured by the sound of tiny footsteps racing down the hallway. Picking up the cake, Brielle turned and walked carefully down towards the front of the house.

Brielle edged the dining room door open with her foot and stepped inside. Aria sat squirming at the head of the table, her gray eyes dancing with childish delight. Erik stood with his arms crossed near the window; his eyes were attentive despite his aloof stance. By his stiff posture Brielle could tell he was uncertain of what came next. _He really hasn't had a birthday party has he? How terrible. What sort of household doesn't celebrate birthdays?_

As she stood there smiling at her daughter, Brielle found herself growing suddenly furious on Erik's behalf. The thought of a child growing up without the simple pleasures she had always taken for granted was enraging.

Brutally, Brielle shoved the anger aside and stepped toward the table. Purposely broadening her smile, she paused before setting the cake unto the table. "Do you plan on eating standing up Erik? Please have a seat."

As if he had been waiting for some instruction, Erik quickly pulled out a chair and sat down on Aria's right. Letting out a calming breath, Brielle released her anger and set the cake before her daughter. She raised a hand and brushed it over Aria's raven hair before leaning forward and kissing the top of her head.

"Happy Birthday, my love. May your next year be even better than the last."

Brielle raised her eyes with a start at the sharp intake of breath which suddenly issued from Erik. His eyes were now riveted upon the cake's surface - more specifically, the writing upon it.

"_Happy Birthday Aria and Erik," _it read.

Brielle had debated her last minute decision to include the second name in the icing, but the impulse to include him somehow in the celebration had overpowered her better judgment. Somehow she had just felt it was the right thing to do. However, now she wasn't so sure it had been a good idea. The expression on his face had suddenly become unreadable. At that moment she felt very juvenile.

"Please don't misunderstand," she began uncertainly. "It is just that I didn't think anyone should go through life without ever having a birthday cake. It is silly I suppose."

At her words he glanced up at her, the candlelight reflecting in the liquid blue of his eyes. Reflecting in the shocked tears gathering there. "No," he rasped before clearing his throat. "It isn't silly at all."

Aria, sensing the distress in her teacher, calmed instantly and reached across the table to pat Erik's hand upon the table. He glanced at the child, then back up at Brielle, blinking rapidly but remaining silent. The urge to join her daughter in comforting Erik bubbled up within Brielle as she stood across the table from them. Her hands slowly fisted in her skirts as she remained standing where she was. She couldn't risk getting any closer to him, couldn't risk the intimacy of touching him, even if only comfort was on her mind.

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, Brielle watched quietly as Erik composed himself. She hadn't had any idea he would be affected this much from just a birthday cake. Slowly a picture of what his life must have been like was taking shape for her. And the more she learned about him, the angrier she became at the people who should have cared for him. No one should be treated as he must have been treated.

"Aria, go ahead and blow those candles out before they melt all the way into the icing," Brielle said quietly, wishing to draw the attention away from Erik. She knew he would be terribly embarrassed with his display if they continued to stand about and stare.

Distracted, for the moment, Aria turned her eyes away from her teacher and turned to the task at hand. She puffed up her cherub cheeks and blew all four of the candles out in one breath. Grinning at her accomplishment, Aria giggled behind her hands.

"Cake?" the child cried out.

"Yes of course. We all get cake." Brielle said with a grin, glad to see the flicker of a smile tug at the corners of Erik's mouth. "But shouldn't we open the presents first?"

Aria happily clapped her hands in agreement. "Presents!"

Brielle turned then and retrieved a wrapped package from atop a nearby dresser. "Now I have to warn you. You may be a little disappointed this year."

At her words, Aria paused before ripping off the wrapping, a pout pushing out her bottom lip. Slowly, the child pulled off the brown paper and with a sigh opened the box. Brielle smiled as shocked delight suddenly overpowered the disappointment on her daughter's face. With a gasp, the child drew out a rosy cheeked china doll from the box before her. Looking to her mother, Aria hugged the delicate doll to her chest.

"You may be a little disappointed because this wasn't the one you wanted," Brielle said, reaching out to brush her hand over her daughter's head. "Someone had already bought it by the time I arrived at the store. Are you terribly disappointed?"

Aria shook her head, grinning as she hugged the doll even harder. "Not that disappointed I see," Brielle said, matching her daughter grin for grin. Turning her attention to Erik, Brielle's smile fell slightly. "I didn't think far enough ahead to get you anything, Erik."

He immediately waved away her worry. "You have already done more than enough."

"What is a birthday without presents though?" she retorted with a frown before an idea suddenly lit up her face. Reaching back to the nape of her neck, Brielle unhooked the silver clasp there. She pulled the two ends on the chain around to the front, drawing a small silver medallion from under the lace of her bodice. Smiling once again, Brielle rounded the table to stand next to where Erik was sitting. She took hold of his hand and placed the medallion in the bowl of his open palm.

"I can't accept this!" he exclaimed, trying to hand the necklace back to her. "Do you wish me to wear a woman's jewelry?"

"Don't be absurd. This is not a woman's jewelry. My brother has one just like it. It is a Saint Jude medal." At his blank stare she rolled her eyes. "Saint Jude is the patron saint of lost causes." A devilish grin lit her face at those words. "Perhaps he can do you some good."

He smiled at the joke and closed his fingers about the silver, his eyes continuing to search hers. "I don't believe in such things. God, saints, they are all…"

Brielle interrupted his train of thought by wrapping her hands about his closed fist. "You don't have to. Faith comes in all forms whether it be in a God or a lucky charm. If nothing else may Saint Jude be your lucky charm." As his brow drew down into a frown she released his hand, once again feeling childish under his somber gaze. Looking at her daughter, who was still gripping her new doll happily, Brielle suddenly changed the subject. "I believe it is time for cake."

Picking up the knife, Brielle pulled the cake to her and began to cut thick slices. Carefully she slid three pieces from the whole and laid them out on plates. She quickly grabbed the forks upon the table and passed them out, trying not to lick her fingers while handling the silverware.

Finally pulling out a chair, Brielle sat down across the table from Erik. She picked up her fork and took a bite, no longer sure what to say to fill the silence. Usually Aria would fill up the quiet with her gift for gab, but tonight the little girl was strangely quiet. She was so quiet, in fact, that after awhile Brielle became concerned.

"Aria, are you feeling alright?" The little girl smiled and nodded her head, stuffing another bite of cake into her mouth.

"Well, as long as you are sure you are alright," Brielle conceded, tapping her fork against the plate.

Brielle watched as Aria glanced at Erik, the pair sharing a secret look before going back to their cake. The clinking of fork against china grew louder as she tried to figure out what she was missing.

"Alright you two, tell me what is going on."

"Nothing is going on. But I do believe your daughter wishes to tell you something," Erik replied, pointedly keeping his eyes upon his plate.

Thoroughly confused, Brielle glanced towards Aria. "What is it, love?"

"Thank you for making m-m…" when her voice locked up Aria stopped speaking. Instead of clamping her lips closed as she normally did, she let out a deep sigh and began to hum quietly, her eyes flickering to Erik for a moment.

Taking another breath, Aria opened her mouth once again. "Thank you for making me my birthday cake Momma. I like it a lot."

The sound of her daughter speaking clearly and without a stutter caught Brielle completely by surprise. Her fork clattered onto the table, her hand suddenly unable to form a grip. It took a moment for the impact of those two simple sentences to sink in. A smile bloomed across her features as she jumped to her feet.

"Oh say it again, love!" she cried out, her hands gently cupping her daughter's face. "Say Momma again."

"Momma!" the little girl supplied, standing upon her chair to wrap her chubby arms about Brielle's neck.

Closing her eyes against the happy tears burning there, Brielle leaned her cheek against the child's raven head. "Never was there a sweeter word said in all the world."

She raised her face then to look at the man responsible for the small miracle of that one word. Erik sat utterly still as her eyes found his. A bottomless expression of longing flickered like candlelight behind his eyes. And without thinking Brielle reached out to him then, her hand coming to rest upon his.

"Thank you."

He looked away then, shrugging as if to discount her gratitude. Erik's hand slowly became a fist under her palm. Her expression sobering, Brielle dug her nails into the back of his fist. "Thank you."

"There is no need to…"

She threw her arms about his shoulders, cutting his words off. Without thought Brielle clung to him, that one clearly spoken word ringing in her mind, ignoring the stiffening of his body at her touch. All the years of feeling unable to help her child, all the maddening diagnoses and advice came rushing to the surface. She felt herself sink to the floor to kneel beside him.

"Thank you, Thank you, Thank you…" Brielle mumbled against his chest. Suddenly she found herself unable to release him. Her steely courage had deserted her, leaving her with nothing of the iron-willed woman she had become. She was nothing more than the tired and lonely girl that had been hidden away for so many years.

Distantly, Brielle felt her daughter's arm wrap about her waist. Somehow Aria's presence only served to heighten the perfection of the moment. She clenched her eyes shut and breathed in a sigh. _He smells sweet…like sandalwood. I could stay like this forev…_

The jarring sound of a fist knocking against the front door jerked Brielle roughly from her musings. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide and confused. A moment passed as her brain switched gears. As the pressure of Erik's chest against her body began to register, a blush infused her face. With a gasp Brielle released him, a look of horrified embarrassment clouding her features.

The knocking sounded again and Brielle stumbled to her feet, trying to straighten her hair and clothing. Unable to meet Erik's eyes, she turned her back to him. "That must be Conner. He said he would try and make it home tonight."

"Brielle…" Erik sighed, his voice deep, almost desperate.

With a forced smile, Brielle backed away from him towards the hallway. "I shouldn't leave him out in the cold. I will be right back." And with that she fled the room, hardly knowing what to think or feel anymore. A painful happiness was beginning to warm her heart and it was terrifying.

She strode quickly down the hallway, her hands pressed against the butterflies dancing in her belly. Suddenly she needed to feel the cold winter air upon her face. Throwing the lock roughly, Brielle jerked open the front door.

The smile of greeting on her face instantly slipped off her face at the sight of the tall black haired man at her door. The happy and nervous butterflies in her stomach all died at that moment, turning leaden within her. She tried smiling once again but couldn't seem to make it.

"Hello Andrew."


	19. An Unexpected Visitor

**Hey everyone! I actually got this chapter done in less than a week! Hurray!**

**A big thanks to my new beta, Juliana, for once again going above and beyond the call of duty! **

**Oh and wish me luck everyone! I have another Org. Chemistry exam tomorrow! ARGG! But anyway I hope you all enjoy this next chapter. **

Chapter 19: An Unexpected Visitor

Erik had not believed his eyes when Brielle had brought out the cake. His name was on it. The woman had put his name on it. He had never once received a "Happy Birthday," let alone an actual cake. He could not even remember when exactly his birthday was. And yet, because of a passing comment upon that fact, Brielle had taken it upon herself to rectify the situation. Because of her he was celebrating his first birthday.

Erik was not a man of soft sentimentality, but something about Brielle's actions had overwhelmed him. The gesture was so sweet, so unassuming it had made his heart constrict painfully within him. Tears had blurred his vision before she had even finished with her prolonged explanation. It was all he could do to utter those few words of assurance to her without completely losing control over himself.

As he had sat stunned, trying to gather what remained of his composure, the damned woman had floored him again with her bizarre gift. A Saint Jude medal - he would have laughed at the absurdity of it if not for the sincerity in her eyes, if not for the gentle warmth of her hand over his. Erik understood the humor in the situation, but more importantly he saw the deeper connotations behind the gift. Brielle honestly believed that by giving him the image of the saint she was somehow protecting him. Her faith was surprising given her love for science, yet she did believe.

She believed in the higher power he had long ago given up hope on. After all, what gentle and loving god would have knowingly cursed a man with his face, with his life? The only feasible explanation was that there simply was no higher power, no Father in Heaven. Mankind was alone as he had always been alone.

And now, as he ran the chain through his fingers, he knew that he would always treasure the medallion. Not because it would give him luck, but because Brielle had given it to him. She could have given him an old rag and he would feel the same way about it. This realization was petrifying. He was starting to feel himself slip back into the shadowy realm where affection and adoration reigned. The signs were all there - the anticipation to see her every morning, the need to simply be in the same room with her, to speak with her about anything and everything.

Erik recognized the signs because he had been through this before with Christine. Though he had to admit that what he felt for Brielle was vastly different from what he had felt for the young singer. In some part of his mind, prompted by his loneliness, he had always put Christine on a pedestal, thinking of her not as a woman but as something more abstract - first his inspiration, then his savior. He now knew that he had never really even known Christine; they had never laughed over breakfast or shared an evening reading aloud in front of the fireplace. Brielle was the only woman he had done these things with; she was the only woman he could honestly say that he knew. Oh and how he hated and loved that familiarity. Loved the companionship, the excitement of having another mind and will strong enough to match his own, but every moment he hated how their friendship made him feel. He was coming to rely upon her. Worst of all, he didn't know how to stop himself from feeling these things.

And it was getting worse with each passing day. He no longer could stand the emptiness of spending a day on his own. The solitude he used to love so much was now repugnant when compared to the comforting interactions of everyday life in the Donovan household. Leaving was the only remedy Erik could think of, but every fiber of his being rebelled against this idea.

Erik sighed as he slowly curled his fist about the medallion; the metal in his palm still glowed with the warmth of her skin. And as he thought about how the silver had so recently lain against the pearl white of her throat, a slow burning sparked to life in his belly. His fist hardened about the necklace as he fought against the unexpected wave of lust. This was happening more often now, the craving for what he could never have. It was degrading for him, a man who prided himself on his self control, to be overtaken by these longings like a fledgling schoolboy.

And it always happened in the oddest of moments, like that afternoon in the kitchen when she had been remembering the day Aria was born. The appearance of bittersweet joy upon her face had paralyzed him barely two feet away from her. God, she had smelled good. Clean, like a field after a spring shower. It was all he could do to keep himself from touching her.

It was degrading, these cravings, but more importantly it was shaming. He should not feel these things about Brielle, not when she had been so kind to him. She didn't need a monster like him lurking about, thinking the things he often thought. She didn't deserve such things and he didn't deserve her. That was the ultimate difference between then and now. He no longer had any illusions, he no longer dreamed of the impossible. His disillusionment protected him now; it stopped him from stepping over the line between affection and crazed obsession, between friendship and love.

Aria's hand upon his knee brought him to the present. He glanced down at the child, only to notice how raggedly she had begun to breathe. The sound of each rush of air whistled between her tense lips. Her hand upon his pant leg was vise-like as it bunched the cotton material into a ball. For the briefest of moments he feared something about his expression had frightened her, except her eyes weren't on him, but on the doorway to the hall. The sound of Brielle opening the front door drifted in then, making Aria start.

"What are you afraid of? It is only Conner; perhaps he brought you a present." When the little girl remained still, her gaze fixed upon the doorway, Erik gently laid his hand atop her raven head. Only then did she look up at him.

"It isn't Uncle Conner," she said clearly, the pupils of her eyes fully dilated, the black blocking out the gray. "Don't let h-h-him in. It i-is the m-m-m-mon…" _Monster…_

Erik smoothed his hand down the side of her head to come to rest on her shoulder. Her stuttering had suddenly deteriorated to the level it had been at before their lessons began. _What in the world has gotten into her? The only person she has ever called monster is…_

At that moment Brielle's voice drifted in from the hall. "Hello, Andrew."

All the blood suddenly drained from his face. There was a stranger in the house.

Brielle stood paralyzed in the doorway, her hand gripping the jamb with too much force. She was suddenly extremely aware of how unkempt she must look, her hair falling from its pins, the top two buttons of her dress undone. Funny, she hadn't even thought of her appearance before.

The man who smiled at her from outside was of average height, but the pride in his bearing had him towering over Brielle. His well kept black hair was swept back from an aristocratically handsome face. The fine tailored suit fit his body perfectly, displaying both his wealth and the lean muscle he was so proud of.

"Andrew what are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet your loving brother-in-law?" he asked smoothly, the humorless smile on his face unable to penetrate the depths of his black eyes. Andrew leaned forward ever so slightly then as if to kiss her cheek, but before he came near enough Brielle hastily retreated backward, feeling crowded. Her reaction was rude, she knew, but she couldn't help herself.

She had known the man standing before her even before she had met her late husband. In fact, now that she thought about it, she supposed that Andrew had been courting her for a time in that roundabout, proper way of his. But she had just never taken to his serious, almost fatherly nature. Somehow she had always felt off balance around Andrew. He had a way of making people become aware of their faults - of speaking down to a person rather than to them.

"I am sorry. It is just that I wasn't expecting you to visit," she said, hurriedly tucking several strands of hair behind her ear.

"Now how could I miss my niece's fourth birthday?"

"You are so busy I just never thought…"

"I am never too busy to come and visit you Brielle," he said quietly, those midnight black eyes throwing her own reflection back at her. Her name was nearly a sigh as it passed through his lips. "May I at least come in?"

She blinked and stepped back. "Of course, sorry. We already cut the cake."

"You and Aria?" he inquired as he stepped over the threshold, removing his hat.

"Yes and Eri…" she trailed off, suddenly a hand rising to cover her mouth. Lord, she had nearly forgotten about Erik. Whirling, Brielle spread her arms out blocking Andrew's path into the house.

"Brielle, whatever has gotten into you?"

"Nothing. I am fine. I just remembered that I haven't told you the news."

His dark brows drew together as he stared at her. "Brielle, what are you talking about? What news?"

"Do you remember how you have always wanted Aria to go to a special school to learn how to speak properly?" she asked with a smile, suddenly uncertain of herself.

"Of course. If you are reconsidering my suggestion, I know of several excellent boarding schools in England which would…"

Bolstered by the rare genuine smile lightening his stern features, Brielle interrupted him. "Thank you, but no I still don't think a school is the best solution. Instead I hired her a tutor!"

Andrew stilled at her words, the smile leaving his face. The somber line flashed to life once more between his brows. "A tutor?"

"Yes, and he is wonderful. Already they have made so much progress," she continued brightly, though she was becoming dismayed by the disapproving glint in his eyes.

"He?" he inquired through tightened lips.

She cleared her throat, hating the clawing tightness climbing up her throat. Normally only large crowds could draw this paralyzing shyness from her but one reproachful glance from him and she was a stuttering moron. "Yes, he is a he. His name is Erik and he is a marvelous teacher. Just today she spoke to me without even one stutter! Isn't that marvelous?" When Andrew remained quiet Brielle frowned, her temper stirring, her hands itching to fist upon her hips. "Isn't it?"

The slight edge which had infused her voice brought the black eyed man from his silence. The sternness faded, only to be replaced with sincere worry. "Of course it is wonderful Brielle. I have always hated how much her handicap has troubled you. It is a relief that she is learning to do better. I know how hard it has been on you, raising her on your own. I was merely concerned by the fact that you are alone in this house with a strange man. And that you saw fit not to tell me of this new development. I only worry for your welfare; you need not keep secrets from me. You can trust me - you know that, don't you?"

Suddenly she felt horrible for having thought such mean things about him. Yes, he was serious and disapproving at times, but under all that breeding he was only looking out for them. And he had been doing so ever since the day John died. "Yes, I know that. And I know how I make you worry."

"Why won't you come back to England? Mother misses Arianna terribly."

"I am sure she does. But you know full well I cannot bear to return to England just yet. There are too many bad memories." Turning her face from him, Brielle wrapped her arms protectively about her waist, her corset all of a sudden feeling like a cage.

Carefully, Andrew brought a gloved hand up to cup the side of her face. "And I have offered many times to replace those memories with happy ones. You only have to say yes."

Feeling chilled, Brielle stepped away from his touch. When his fingers brushed her face, she felt nothing but the coolness of his skin against hers. How odd. Had she been expecting the same jolting spark that Erik's touch always ignited?

"Can we please not talk about this now?"

Andrew went rigid at the shortness of her words. A vein just below his temple began to throb in time with his heart. "As you wish - you know I can be a patient man. In the end I know you will see the wisdom of my offer." Straightening his shoulders, he took a step away from her. "I believe I am holding up a birthday party. Shall we go? I have a gift for Arianna which I think she will enjoy." He tapped the small box he had just pulled from his pocket.

She merely nodded her head, glad to have put off the never ending argument about marriage. Brielle had often told Andrew she never planned to love another man, but for some reason the news never put him off. He was so confident in himself, Brielle was sure, that he believed she would eventually come around. But she was certain she could never come to love him. Every time she looked at him, she only saw John in his likeness.

With these worries upon her mind, Brielle walked down the hallway without remembering to mention several important facts to Andrew. Firstly, that 'the tutor' was in the house and secondly, that he was living there. She remembered these two things just a little too late.

Rounding the corner ahead of her, Andrew walked through the dining room door a moment before she did. When he came to a sudden stop in the doorway, Brielle ran into his back. Startled, she peeked around him and then remembered with a sinking feeling the details she had forgotten to relate.

"Brielle," Andrew began, his voice lowered, "I don't believe you mentioned having another guest." His dark eyes narrowed ever so slightly across the room, where Erik sat with his hand resting on Aria's shoulder.

"Of course I did Andrew," she said, trying to trivialize her mistake with a light attitude. "This is Erik." Stepping around the finely dressed man, Brielle walked into the room. Moving to the table she began to tidy up the dirty plates, the worry lines beginning to show between her eyebrows.

Erik stood then, looking terribly uncomfortable. Brielle knew how sensitive he was to meeting strangers and it pained her to know that this encounter was sure to go badly. Andrew was…abrasive in his best moments. When Erik's gaze flickered to her, she mouthed a silent apology.

"How thoughtful of you Brielle, to have invited the help over for a little cake," Andrew began, his nose turning up ever so slightly as he sized Erik up. "You always were a bit too familiar with the staff."

Grimacing, Brielle set the plates aside with clatter; she could all but feel Erik's temper begin to boil. "Andrew, what a horrid thing to say. You haven't the right to come in here and insult my guest. Erik happens to be a friend."

With a snort Andrew crossed his arms, one finger tapping against the top of the present he held in his hand. He finally finished his silent assessment of the other man and turned his attention to Brielle, dismissing Erik. "Forgive me, Brielle. I had simply been looking forward to spending some time with family." There was a pause as a smirk curled the corners of his mouth. "Though I suppose there will be other occasions for that."

Uncrossing his arms, Andrew finally turned his dark eyes back to Erik. Holding out one hand, he walked across the room. "A pleasure, sir. I am Baron Andrew Leopold Lancaster Donovan. And you I understand are…Erik? Do you have a last name or is it merely Erik?"

"That is none of your business you foppish bast…" Erik's response only served to widen the smirk on Andrew's face. Both men opened their mouths to continue the verbal battle, but Brielle quickly interrupted them.

"Andrew, didn't you say you had a gift for Aria? Perhaps you should give it to her now. It will be her bedtime soon."

Lowering his hand, Andrew turned to look over his shoulder at her. "You are right of course." Plastering a smile upon his face he looked down at Aria, who was still clutching Erik's left pant leg. "I saw this in a shop all the way back in London," he began, holding the small velvet box out to the child. When she didn't take it from him, the smile dimmed ever so slightly. With a sigh he opened the lid for her and plucked out a pair of mother of pearl hair combs in the shape of butterflies. "Your mother has often told me how you like butterflies Arianna. Now you won't have to wait 'til summer to see them."

"What a thoughtful gift Andrew," Brielle said with a smile, glad that the men in the household had momentarily been distracted from barbing each other. "Aria, what do you say to your Uncle?"

When Aria stuck out her bottom lip and scuffed the toe of her shoe against the carpet, Brielle sighed. Aria had never taken to Andrew either. Her shyness now wasn't a surprise. "Aria, say thank you at least."

"T-Thank y-y-you," the child stuttered quietly before stuffing a thumb into her mouth. Frustrated tears gathered in her large gray eyes.

Dismayed by the relapse in her daughter's speech, Brielle stepped forward and gently pried the child from Erik's leg, swinging her up to perch upon her hip. "Well I think that has been enough excitement for today. It is time for Aria to go to bed."

Returning the hair combs to the box untouched, Andrew glanced in Erik's direction. "Shouldn't you be on your way, Erik?"

Now it was Erik's turn to smirk. "Actually, seeing as I have been living here I don't have far to go."

Stunned, Andrew blinked at the masked man in silence before abruptly turning to Brielle. The vein in his temple pulsed out his anger as his face drained of all its color. "Brielle, I need to have a word with you…now." And with that he turned upon his heel and marched out of the room.

A wave of dread washed over her as she patted Aria's back comfortingly. She knew a fight was surely looming on the immediate horizon. Fighting with Andrew was like arguing with a brick wall. "Aria, be a good girl and go to your room. Momma will be right there." Bending over, Brielle set the girl on the floor. Aria immediately ran off after grabbing her new china doll.

Erik stood on the other side of the table glowering at her. "I had no idea he was coming over Erik. I apologize for his behavior it is just…"

"Don't make excuses for him Brielle. There is no excuse for that kind of man," he snapped. "Who does he think he is anyway? Probably never did a day of work in his life. Brazen…ignorant…" He rounded the table and advanced upon her, his anger lowering his voice to a growl.

"Erik, please…he has been very kind to this family since John died. I am sorry for the things he said but I just don't have the strength to fight with you about it right now."

"Kind, hmm? And does that kindness include terrorizing your daughter and insulting your friends?"

Despite the furious tone of his voice, Brielle couldn't help but smile at him. "So you finally consider yourself my friend?"

Her question caught him off guard, the anger momentarily fading from his expression. "What? Don't change the subject."

"Erik, will you be a dear and make sure Aria is getting ready for bed rather than setting something on fire in the kitchen?"

"Brielle?"

"Honestly Erik! I can only concentrate on fighting with one man at a time. If you wish to be able to stay here I will have to come up with a damned good reason to give to Andrew."

"Ha! What say does he have in any of this?"

"This is his house, his property. He has a great deal to say about who stays on it." Stepping forward she grabbed hold of Erik's arm, ushering him out of the room. "Now get out of here!" With that she gave him a push out of the dinning room door. He stumbled slightly before stalking off towards the back of the house.

Taking a deep breath, Brielle smoothed her hands down the front of her dress, trying all the while to come up with an excuse for Erik's presence in the house. Reluctantly, she moved out into the hall where Andrew stood with his hands clenched behind his back. Having heard her approach, the black haired man turned and fixed her with his piercing gaze.

"I want him out of the house Brielle. By week's end he is to be gone."

She gritted her teeth against the infuriating command of his words. "Andrew, there is nothing improper about his staying here. I know of plenty of wealthy families who hire live-in teachers."

"That may be so but those families do not include beautiful young widows! What do you really know about this man anyway? Where are his recommendations? And why the hell does he wear that blasted mask? What honest man would wear a mask!"

"You know perfectly well why an honest man would be forced to hide his face Andrew!" she exclaimed, fed up with his dictations. "How can you judge him because he was born with some sort of disfigurement?"

"Don't change the subject. What do you know about him? Where is he from? What is his last name for goodness sake?"

"For your information I have known him for little over two months now and he has yet to rob us or murder us in our sleep. He was a consultant at the Opera before he came here. I would think that should come with extremely high recommendations."

"Brielle, you know I love your spirit and your spontaneity but really this time you have just gone too far."

"I will not ask him to leave."

"Brielle."

"I…will…not…ask…him…to…leave."

A flicker of stark maliciousness drifted behind his eyes, like clouds before a full moon. In one step Andrew had latched onto her wrist in a vise-like grip. "Why do you constantly push me away Brielle, when all I have ever done is protect you?"

His fingers slowly increased their pressure and Brielle gasped aloud at the bolts of pain shooting up her arm. "Andrew, let go. You are hurting me."

The strange mood cleared from his eyes at her words, his hand immediately releasing her. She stumbled back a step, rubbing at where he had been gripping her. A large red hand print now marred the skin just above her right wrist. "What is the matter with you!"

He ignored her question, looking terribly contrite for having acted so boorishly. "I am sorry Brielle. I didn't mean to harm you. Perhaps we should continue this conversation at a later time. I have business to take care of in Paris. For convenience's sake I will be staying at the main house over the next few months. There will be plenty of time to work this situation out. Forgive my insensitivity. My only excuse is my surprise at the whole situation."

Still cradling her throbbing wrist, Brielle could only stare at him. Her first reaction was to be furious at him for laying a hand on her, but somehow the sheepishness of his stance dissolved her anger. "Yes perhaps that would be best."

"Goodnight then Brielle. I will call again sometime in the next few days," he stated without bothering to ask her permission first.

"Goodnight Andrew," she said, following him to the front door. Brielle stood and watched him easily mount his waiting horse and gallop off down the lane. When the man had disappeared around the first bend in the road, Brielle quietly laid a hand upon the door.

With a heave she slammed the door shut, rattling the mirror hanging in the hallway.


	20. A Child's Prayer

**Hey everyone! Sorry this chapter took so long but I hope you all enjoy it anyway. Oh and I have to thank all of my reviewers! You have all been very kind. It really means a lot to a writer to get feedback.**

**Once again a huge thanks to my Beta Juliana. What can I say she is just wonderful.**

**By the way I don't own the Phantom characters or those in the frog prince story. A pity, eh?**

Chapter 20: A Child's Prayer

Erik stalked down the hallway wishing with every step that he could drive a fist through the wall. Never in his adult life had another man spoken to him in so condescending a manner as that puffed up peacock had done. _'How thoughtful of you to have invited the help over for some cake,' _he recalled, angrily mouthing the words. _He wouldn't have been so arrogant if we were alone for five minutes. Five minutes and I could have ripped him to shreds. _

At least Erik had had some pleasure in seeing the shock on the bastard's face when he informed him of his current residence. That little tidbit had certainly knocked Lord Andrew down a few pegs. Oh it was childish to be sure, but he just couldn't help himself from baiting the man. It had been all too easy.

Erik's only regret was that his words had apparently gotten Brielle into trouble with her 'landlord.' The fact that she cared so much what Andrew thought of her sent his blood boiling. He didn't like how the man spoke to her either. It was like he was speaking to a child rather than a young lady. What was more enraging was that Brielle allowed it.

Why she was relying on the dandy for a place of residence was a mystery to him. Her late husband surely must have left everything to her. The Donovan family was by all accounts extremely well off. The younger son of such a family surely could have provided for his wife. He stopped walking with a jerk when a thought suddenly struck him. Maybe she was staying here because she wanted to be closer to the man. Maybe she loved Andrew.

The thought left him feeling sick inside.

He heaved a great sigh, trying to release some of the dread building up inside of him. After a few calming breaths he continued down the hallway to do as Brielle had asked and check on Aria. As he neared the child's room he could hear her stuttering voice through the open doorway.

Erik's anger faded as he stood listening to her struggle with every word. He closed his eyes against the discordant rhythm of her speech. Every strained vowel and distorted consonant physically pained him. _I was so sure that we had made progress. She was speaking beautifully just this morning._

Shaking his head, he placed a hand on the door and was about to push it open when his ears caught a few of Aria's words. Erik turned his head, one ear towards the opening, sure he had misheard her. The child was praying. For him.

Edging the door open another inch, Erik peered around the corner. Aria knelt before her bed, both tiny hands clasped in front of her face. Her eyes screwed tightly shut as she battled to push every word out of her mouth.

"G-God bless M-Momma and Uncle C-Conner and E-Erik. P-Please don't l-let Uncle Andrew b-be my new D-Daddy. He h-has m-mean eyes." The child shifted slightly, scrunching her mouth up in concentration. "P-Please don't let Uncle Andrew s-scare Erik away. And d-don't let him t-take Erik away to W-War to be sh-shot."

Aria stilled then and rested her forehead against her clasped hands. Erik waited for her to continue, but when she remained quiet he moved to push the door open. He stopped when the little girl raised her head and opened her eyes, gazing upwards.

"I want Erik to be my new Daddy," the child stated with utter clarity, her eyes searching the ceiling as she made her request.

The hand Erik was holding against the door shook as he jerked backwards, struck utterly dumb by the implications of the child's words. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. There must be some sort of mistake. There had to be a mistake. No one had ever wanted him for anything. And yet, Aria…

He raised a trembling hand to press against his aching heart as he stared blankly at the door. God, he couldn't breathe; a terribly wonderful weight was pressing the air right out of him. What was this sweet agony? He couldn't place the emotion stealing the very breath from his lungs, the strength from his limbs. What _was _it?

Then it dawned on him suddenly like a flash of lightning through the summer sky. It was love. How could he have not placed this feeling? He had loved before, hadn't he?

No, this was vastly different. It was deep, like a handprint upon the heart, a bruise upon bone. It was unconditional and giving. He loved this child as if she were his own, a fact which both inspired and terrified. He had finally lost his heart to another female and she wanted him to be her Daddy. Suddenly he had the urge to both burst into delighted laughter and flee this house and the emotions within it.

Instead he remained still and silent, trying all the while to regain the tattered sheds of what remained of his composure. Sucking in a breath, Erik built up enough courage to glance around the corner of the door once more. A frown formed handsome creases about his mouth when he realized Aria had disappeared from her spot by the bed. He nearly gasped aloud when a sharp tug at his pant leg caught him off guard.

When his eyes snapped downward he was greeted with a pair of large, solemn gray eyes. "D-Did you come to r-read me a s-s-story?"

"Excuse me?" he rasped before clearing his throat of the emotion building there. He didn't want her to see how distressed he was at the moment, but it was proving difficult to hide the hurricane of feeling clouding his brain.

"M-Momma is fighting w-with him. S-She s-sent you to make s-sure I had gone t-to bed." With that said Aria lifted her right hand and popped her thumb into her mouth.

Erik shook his head and out of habit pulled the child's thumb from her mouth. In their lessons together it had not taken long to discover that her thumb sucking was a display of insecurity. He had been trying to break her of the habit for weeks and he had thought he was succeeding, until now.

"And how do you know that? Are you a mind reader like your mother is?" he asked in a teasing manner, hoping it would be enough to distract from the catch in his voice as he referred back to Aria's words at their first dinner together.

Without smiling Aria merely looked up at him then nodded. "Y-Yes, and l-like Momma's M-Momma too. She used to w-work in the th-theater."

Thinking the little girl was joking, Erik smiled and ushered her back into her bedroom. But as his mind turned over her words further he began to think otherwise. "Aria, how did you know it wasn't Conner at the door this evening?"

"I s-saw it w-wasn't him," the child said, her thumb rising to her mouth again before a frown from Erik had her rethinking the action.

"You couldn't have seen him Aria. The dining room is on the wrong side of the house for that," he replied as he hefted the child up onto her bed before taking a seat next to her.

Finally Aria smiled at him, as if she knew something he didn't. "N-Not with my eyes, I s-saw him in my h-head," she explained with difficulty as she tapped a finger to her forehead.

"I don't understand."

"It is the s-same as w-when I hear the m-music. It is j-just there. I k-know things about p-people sometimes," she said with a shrug.

Still not entirely convinced the child was serious, Erik smiled at her and nodded his head. "You must have a wonderful imagination to believe all this," he said, reaching out to ruffle her hair.

"You d-don't b-believe me?" she asked with a childish grin as she wrinkled her nose at him.

"I believe that you believe," he said with a smile, laughing when Aria rolled her eyes skyward.

"T-That's alright. M-Most people d-don't understand w-what they c-can't see w-with their eyes," she said while patting his arm as if to comfort him against this news.

Aria turned from him then and scrambled off the edge of the bed, pattering to the marble topped bedside table and snatching a book from its surface. "R-Read now!" she squealed as she ran back to his side, waving the book over her head before climbing up to sit next to him.

Opening the book, she dropped it into his lap and pointed to a picture of a young woman kissing a frog. "This is m-my favorite s-story! S-See there w-was a P-Prince who was very b-bad and so h-he was turned into a f-frog. Then there w-was a l-lonely Princess w-who went down t-to the pond. And t-then the l-lady kissed the f-frog and he turned b-back into P-Prince!"

"Well it certainly sounds like you know the story. Whatever do you need me for?"

She giggled and leaned her head against his arm. "I l-like how you t-talk." Stabbing a finger at the book, she puckered up her lips. "R-Read!"

Sighing dramatically he held up the book in one hand, squinting at the pages before him as if he were unable to read the words. Erik grunted when Aria poked him in the side with a laugh, ordering him to read once again. Turning to the first page he leaned back against the headboard and began to read.

"Once upon a time there was a spoiled little prince."

Aria settled into his side, her cheek pressed against the cotton of his shirt sleeve, one hand resting in the crook of his elbow. The small gold-faced clock hanging on the wall ticked out the minutes as Erik read each page, his voice instinctively acting out the different parts with funny accents and dramatic pauses.

He lost himself in the story as he read, just as he used to lose himself in his music. The ticking of the clock, the distant sound of the wind, the settling creaking of the house all faded from his attention as he read. The noise of the outside world faded to the rhythm of his words, the sound of Aria's quiet breathing.

"And they lived happily ever after. The end," he said closing the book quietly, the sounds of the evening returning to him once more. The voices out in the hall were silent now and Erik hoped Lord Andrew had finally taken his leave.

When no sound of approval came from the child lying against him Erik glanced down, slightly concerned at her silence. Slowly, a gentle smile spread across his face when the reason for the child's stillness became apparent. Aria was sound asleep against his arm, her mouth slack with sleep, each cheek a warm, rosy pink.

He carefully set the book aside, not wanting to disturb Aria from her slumber. However, his caution was unnecessary; there was no threat of waking her, for his movements hadn't even made her blink. She was out cold and beginning to drool upon his arm.

Erik couldn't help but smile down at the child's form. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand and grazed the tips of his fingers over Aria's cheek. It was amazing really, that perfection could be found in such a small package. He had never known that it was possible to feel this way, like he was a part of something greater than himself, like he was needed. It felt glorious.

Just then the sound of a footstep upon a loose floorboard brought his head up quickly. Brielle stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped loosely about her waist as if she were chilled. Absently she rubbed at one of her wrists as she stared unblinkingly across the room at him. For some reason - perhaps it was the shifting lamplight or the quiet of the house - she looked terribly lonely and terribly young.

She raised a finger to her lips after a moment and stepped into the room. The hem of her skirts brushed the carpet in soft, intimate whispers. Brielle knelt down slightly and began to shift her daughter from Erik's arm. When he made a soft sound of protest she merely smiled up at him.

"She won't wake up now. She never does after a good story," she whispered as she lifted Aria and placed her small head on the waiting pillows. Shooing him off the bed, Brielle untucked the blankets and pulled them over her daughter's small body.

She straightened slowly and gestured for him to follow her out the door. Once they were both out in the hall she turned and closed the door. "Thank you for reading to her. It really means a great deal to her to have a story before going to sleep. It helps her to not be afraid of nightmares."

Brielle turned from the door then, the shadows of the hallway shading her face from view. But her eyes - he could feel her eyes moving across his face like a touch. He stepped away from her, uncomfortable with the intimacy of the darkness.

Erik shrugged his shoulders, throwing off her gratitude. "She asked me to read. It was no great feat. No need to thank me," he said in short, clipped sentences.

There was a pause before a small sigh issued from Brielle. "What is the matter?" she asked, while once again rubbing absently at her wrist.

"Why would you assume something is the matter?" he replied before turning upon his heel and striding down the hallway.

"Don't take that tone with me. You only sound like this when something is rolling around in your brain you don't want to deal with. And so you get snippy."

"I do not!"

"You do. So please explain to me what has set you off this time."

"I have nothing to say…" he began. When they reached the doorway to the library, the light pressure of her hand upon his arm stopped him in his tracks.

"Come now, haven't we gotten past this?" she asked quietly, her hand tightening ever so slightly on his shirt sleeve.

He turned then, a frown tightening his lips. The torrent of emotion weaving through his blood sharpened his eyes, making them burn in the darkness. She started at his expression, releasing his arm. "If you must know I simply did not like the unexpected company tonight."

"Andrew upset you? I know he is terribly condescending but…"

He huffed, one corner of his mouth curling into a sneer. "Well, are you going to do as Lord Andrew ordered? Is the man in charge of this household? Shall I be on my way tomorrow morning?"

Brielle stared at him with wide quiet eyes for several seconds before slowly drawing herself up to her full height. "No man is the head of this house, nor of me!" She advanced upon him then, waving her hands in the air angrily. "How dare you, sir, to imply that I would turn my back on a friend."

"Oh so I am your friend then!" he hissed, furious suddenly because of the fear creeping up his spine. The realization that all he had come to care for could be once again wrenched from his hands terrorized him. He didn't want to lose this, didn't want to be alone anymore. But he didn't know how to stop it from being taken away.

"Of course you are you dolt!" she ground out poking him in the chest, the anger draining from her voice as she stepped forward. Her eyes flickered to the floor, suddenly shy. "You are the best friend I have ever had."

Unwilling to release the protective shield of his rage, Erik leaned forward ever so slightly and snapped, "What a sad sort of life you must have had for me to be your best friend."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. But his pride would not allow him to apologize to her, not when it was in her hands to trample upon his happiness.

Brielle's eyes widened at his words before lowering to hide the bruised feelings so plainly written upon her face. She remained quiet but every breath sawed out of her throat. He watched as the color flooded her cheeks and her hands fisted at her sides. She finally raised her head with a snap. Whipping back one hand, she swung her palm forward and slapped it across his left cheek.

Shocked, Erik could only stare at her as she brought her arm back for another blow. Before she could hit him again he moved forwards, grappling to take hold of her hands. She fought against his grip with a growl which teetered off into a sob. Brielle jerked and twisted her arms, trying to free herself from his grip. The pair staggered into a table sending the knickknacks on top of it jumping. With his hip smarting from the table edge Erik surged forward, grabbing her lower arms in his fists and pinning her elbows to her waist.

"How dare you, you son of a bitch! I can't stand this any longer! I just can't do everything alone anymore!" Her arms relaxed in his grip, her body sagged tiredly against his. "I can't fight everyone. I am just too tired to fight."

"You are never too tired to fight."

"Erik you know I would never send you away as long as you wished to stay."

Yes, a part of him had known that, but it was a comfort to hear the words coming from her mouth. He sighed and relaxed his hold on her hands. Suddenly their close proximity became very, very apparent. Erik could see every silver eyelash shading her lids, could feel her breath brushing the skin along his neck.

"Yes, I know. I am sorry. Truly I am." he finally replied, the leaden chill of his fear melting away. Erik raised his hands to either side of her face on the verge of touching her before he pulled away. If he didn't put some space between them soon…

Brielle flushed scarlet as he stepped away from her. Funny, she appeared almost dazed. He retreated even further when the urge to kiss her parted lips swamped his brain.

"You look tired. You should get some rest," he stately quietly, hoping his voice would not betray the thoughts racing through his head. When Brielle merely nodded he hesitated from leaving her. That lonely, lost shadow was once again darkening her face.

"You do not have to do everything on your own now, you know. I am here." Startled by the words coming from his own mouth, Erik cleared his throat.

But the regret of being so open left him when the light of a smile once again flickered over Brielle's face.

She pushed away from the wall and straightened. "Yes, I know."


	21. Blood And Flowers

**Hurray! The next chapter is done! Hope you all enjoy it as much I enjoyed writing it. Oh and I have to thank all of you for the wonderful reviews. I can't believe how many I have been getting lately. Thanks it means a lot to me!**

**A big thank you to my beta Juliana. She is so great. I know you may be getting tired of me saying it but it is true!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own the phantom characters. It is sad, I know, but I do own everyone else. **

Chapter 21: Blood and Flowers

Brielle jerked up in bed, slick and sticky with sweat, shivering so violently the sound of her chattering teeth echoed about the room. Despite the layers of blankets covering her legs she felt cold, frozen even. The room was warm, she knew, but her skin felt drawn too tight and was covered with gooseflesh. Fear clogged her airways, pressing, crushing the air from her lungs. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, drowning in the paralysis of her own fear. She clamped her mouth shut, desperately trying to muffle the scream that was still locked high in her throat. The brittle winter sunlight pouring through the bedroom window did nothing to calm the racing of her terrified heart or to warm the chills creeping up her spine.

As her panic subsided, she felt a headache begin to pinch at her temples.

It had been a week since Aria's birthday party. Each uneventful day was routine if not boring. The one exception to this rule was whenever Andrew came to call. His visits were always far from routine. For each of the past seven days he had not failed to send her some sort of gift; a fragrant bundle of hothouse flowers had been the latest offering.

She had come to dread the knock of the messenger upon the door, for the arrival of each gift always heralded the arrival of its sender about an hour later. Lately the sound of the door knocker had the mysterious ability to make the other members of the household disappear; Aria would refuse to leave her room, even as Erik would refuse to leave the library. Brielle was at her wit's end, trying to manage her daughter and deal with Erik's unpredictable moods at the same time.

Despite the relative normalcy of the daytime hours over the last week, the nights were an altogether different story. Every morning Brielle had woken up terrified by some unknown nightmare. She would jerk awake suddenly, clammy with sweat, her heart fit to burst inside her chest. It was odd, really, that she couldn't remember the dreams. She thought she should be able to remember something which was so frightening. But obviously this was not the case.

As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, Brielle momentarily hoped the unsettling dreams could be attributed to the fight she and Erik had had the night of the party. She had forgotten how hurtful he could be; his harsh words had caught her off guard. Of course, she knew the reason she had become so upset was not because of what he said. It had more to do with her emotional state at the time.

Andrew seemed to bring out all of her weaknesses. She always felt lacking after one of his visits - though Brielle knew that her reaction to him surely had nothing to do with Andrew's behavior. If anything he doted upon her. He would never actually criticize her.

When he had taken his leave that night she, as usual, had felt drained. In those moments after she had slammed the door against his retreating figure, she felt the crushing weight of the years to come. She could see the lonely decades stretching out before her and she could feel the uncertainty of life overtake her.

She had felt bruised with a weariness that had settled and gone bone deep. And when Brielle had quietly entered Aria's room and witnessed the touching scene of Erik reading to her daughter, she was only further reminded of what she could never have - a companion, a lover, a husband. But oh, how she wanted those things. And how she hated him for weakening her resolve to live life alone, for reminding her of what she had lost.

She knew now that was why she had reacted so violently to his barb. Why she had hit him. Thinking back upon it, she regretted laying her hands upon him in anger. Brielle had lost control of herself; she hated that.

And to add to all these worries, Conner had yet to reappear from his soloist tour in England. He was due back the night Andrew appeared but she had yet to receive a letter of apology over his absence. Brielle knew that most likely he was off passing time in a London pub, getting drunk or trying to woo pretty girls.

With all this on her mind, Brielle ran a hand through her tangled hair and stood. She knew, deep down, that the dreams were more than just a reaction to her worries. Brielle wasn't a fool, she recognized the trend of her dreams were more sinister than simple nightmares. Soon, she was sure, something terrible would happen.

She hopped to the side when her bare feet hit the chilled floorboards and then carefully made her way to the closet. Standing on one foot while warming the other against her calf, Brielle pondered her clothing selection for the day. Unable to stand the chilly air breathing up her night dress anymore, she quickly snatched a gown from those hanging within the cabinet.

When she turned and looked in the mirror after donning the required layers of clothing, Brielle was startled to see what she had chosen. The dress was a cheerful apricot velvet with an overskirt that was caught up in the back to make a foaming waterfall of ecru lace. It was a remnant of the past, when she had been young and carefree, but she remembered how pretty she had felt wearing it as a newlywed.

Actually she was shocked it still fit. Apparently having a baby hadn't changed her figure as much as she thought it had. Brielle had to admit though, as she tugged self-consciously at the neckline, that it certainly had become just a bit tight about the bodice.

It was still pretty, but hardly practical. With a sigh Brielle reached to unclasp the buttons down her back, but a crash from the hallway made her pause. Frowning she dropped her arms and headed to the door, forgetting on her way out to pull her boots over the stockings she wore.

She pushed the door open just in time to catch a glimpse of Aria disappearing down the hallway, the child trailing clumps of Andrew's flowers after her. Brielle stepped forward to chase after her daughter, but her progress was suddenly arrested when her right foot came down upon shards from the broken flower vase.

The razor-edged pieces cut deeply into her heel before she had time to process what was happening. The burning pain shot up her leg and with a startled shriek Brielle jumped backwards. Cursing furiously in several different languages she hopped about on her good foot, trailing blood as she tried to stay upright.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow…" she hissed, her snowy eyebrows drawing together at the sight of her own blood upon the floor.

Teetering upon one foot she bent awkwardly to the side, fighting against the confines of her corset, in order to get a better look at her injury. Brielle was on the verge of plucking the first shard of frosted glass from her heel when she lost her balance and lurched sideways.

A pair of strong arms caught her about her waist before she hit the ground. Surprised, she tilted her head upward only to find Erik's strong jaw flexing above her head. The man was positively pale.

"Damn it Bri! What the hell have you been doing down here? I was upstairs getting dressed when I heard you scream. And then when I come racing down here there is blood everywhere out in the hall!"

She turned in his arms with a hop, both hands gripping the collar of his white cotton shirt for balance. "Am I to understand by the hint of reproach in your tone that you were worried, Erik?" Brielle asked with a wince, lifting her foot well clear of the floor, leaning against the warm expanse of his chest for support.

Relaxing into his arms, she turned her face into the hollow under his jaw, closing her eyes against the pain shooting up her leg. She breathed in deeply, savoring the feeling of safety she had found within his arms. He smelled of the night-dark, mysterious, dangerous and oh so wonderful.

Reluctantly she pulled back.

He made a soft huffing sound and ignored her question. "Will you please refrain from your constant need to annoy me and simply explain what happened?" he asked as his head tilted to gaze over her shoulder at her upturned foot. At the sight of the ripped and bloodied stocking covering the protruding pieces of glass, Erik's brows drew downward and his mouth turned hard. The look he gave her was like summer thunderclouds - dark, roiling, uncertain.

"Oh, it was an accident. Aria upturned the flower vase and I stepped on the glass."

A slight tremor began in the long-boned musician's hands spanning her waist. "You should be more careful," he murmured, as something wild flashed behind his eyes, apparently kept in check by a mere breath as his hands tightened on her hips.

"I plan to," she replied flippantly, trying to throw off the sudden heaviness of the moment.

He was staring at her now as if he were trying to crawl inside her skin. Brielle became acutely aware of the warmth of his bare skin under her hands as she continued to cling to his neck. His shirt wasn't completely done up, she noticed. The top four buttons hung unclasped. She found herself staring at his open neckline, at the well toned muscles revealed there. Then her gaze rose unbidden, first to his lips, then up along the curve of his mask to his burning eyes. Those eyes were oceans deep, and she suddenly wanted to drown within them.

"I need stitches," she heard herself saying as she eased away from him, fearing the whole while the longing which she found in his gaze, which she felt resonating within herself. Brielle turned her head away from him so suddenly her neck ached as she pretended to be searching for her medical bag. "I need to find my bag. The needles and alcohol are in there."

As she swiveled her torso about, her injured foot bumped against the floor. Tongues of burning pain licked up her leg, nearly sending her to the floor when her knees buckled. Once again Erik's steady hands caught her weight and easily bore her up, preventing her fall.

With a great sigh the disheveled man bent at the waist and without a word hooked an arm under her knees, lifting her from the ground. Brielle gasped as the world tilted when he straightened, her hands once again tangling in the collar of his shirt.

"What are you doing? Put me down at once!"

"For once would you allow someone to assist you without complaining about it?" he snapped.

Brielle shut her mouth quickly, wincing as she watched a drop of blood gather on the bottom of her heel before dropping off to splatter on her carpet. Erik carried her out of her room, his shoes crushing over the scattered glass still on the floor. He walked down the hall quickly, careful of her injury when he turned sideways and edged through the library door. Gently, he set her on the edge of a cushioned settee before moving to the windows and jerking the curtains aside.

When his back was turned, Brielle grabbed her ankle and drew her foot up for inspection. She was relieved to discover only two moderately sized shards still embedded within her sole. By the way her foot was throbbing, she had been worried half the vase was jammed up inside her heel. Nevertheless, the glass had torn through her skin quite severely and it was apparent that she would need several stitches. Erik glanced her way momentarily before striding to the door and disappearing down the hall.

Brielle couldn't help but feel a little disappointed at his departure. She had expected him to stay, had begun to rely on his support. Rolling her shoulders she straightened, her lips tightening against the disheartened sigh pushing against her teeth. _Fine I don't need him!_

Hissing a few calming breaths, Brielle flexed her fingers, steeling herself to the task ahead. "Ok, I will do it on my own then. I don't have time to be relying on some fool man for help. This isn't that hard anyway. Just a few stitches and I will be on my way." But first she had to pull the glass out.

Her fingers were just about to pluck the first shard out when Erik breezed back into the room carrying her medical bag. Brielle felt a foolish smile blaze across her face at the sight of him. She couldn't help it, she just felt calmer when he was in the room.

Erik set the bag down with a thump, stabbing a finger in her direction. "Get your hands away from there! You'll cause an infection if that glass breaks off under the skin."

"Oh, really?" she asked sarcastically, letting the pain sharpen her tongue as she glared at the man digging through her medical bag. "I didn't know that."

At the sharp, pain-laced tone of her voice, Erik's gaze flickered up to hers from the medical bag. Temper fleetingly edged into his features before one look at her face cracked the edges of his frown. Something about her expression softened his eyes to the color of the sea just after dawn. She suddenly wondered how anguished she must look to elicit sympathy from such a hard man.

"This will go better if you keep your mouth shut," he said quietly as he drew a bottle of alcohol from her satchel, his expression once again distant. Setting the clear liquid aside he dove back into the supplies, his jaw clenching tighter and tighter when he was unable to locate what he was looking for.

"Don't you have enough sense to put laudanum in here for pain?" Erik asked sharply as he threw the suturing kit onto the couch next to her.

"I have enough sense _not_ to put it in there, you blasted man. The bloody stuff is addicting at best and deadly at its worst!"

"And you are damned annoying at best," he shot back, the exasperation in his voice nearly tickling a grin from her despite the pulsing hurt radiating up her calf.

Erik pulled up a chair and tenderly took hold of her ankle to examine her wound. Brielle watched the handsome creases about his eyes deepen in concentration as he carefully turned her foot for a better view. The hem of her skirt slowly slid up her lower leg at his movements. But this fact went unnoticed all the while his hands cradled her ankle. Something about the feel of his long, fine fingers upon her skin sent a strange, quivery feeling rippling down her spine.

With a vexed grunt, Erik turned his frown once more in her direction. "This stocking is ruined?"

"Well yes, it has more holes in it now than a pie safe." Brielle replied, plastering a shaky smile on her face. Now that he was looking at her with those intensely fathomless eyes, she edged the hem of her skirts back down to a respectable level.

At her reply Erik nodded and ripped the sole of the stocking from about her injury. Without a word he slid his hands up the side of her leg - well past her knees - before Brielle had time to protest. Fumbling to stay his hand, Brielle gasped and planted her good foot upon his chest, warding him off.

"Where is your decency sir? Manhandling an injured lady!" she shouted outraged, her Irish accent growing thick as a sea fog.

Erik's mouth kinked into an easy smile as he shook off her restraining hands and began to roll the top of her stocking down her leg. "I assure you there is no need to fear for my decency. I was simply removing this to have a better look at your injury."

"Well, I suppose that is acceptable," she said, once again pushing her skirts down over her knees as she lowered her foot from his chest, allowing him to continue to slide the plain wool down her leg.

Brielle hissed when the bunching material jarred the ragged wounds on her heel. Erik's fingers paused at her ankle. He glanced up at her then, a wicked light flickering behind his eyes.

"Though I have to admit you do have lovely ankles."

"WHAT?" she blustered, so enraged she didn't even feel the calmly smiling man pull her stocking over her torn skin.

Ignoring her sputtering, Erik took up her foot once again. He made a few deep clucking sounds in the back of his throat as he gathered the suturing kit closer. "I suggest you forget your misgivings and allow me to fetch some laudanum."

She sniffed haughtily at that. "No need."

"Brielle," he began again, the annoyance deepening his voice.

"There is no need," she said slowly as she reached for the alcohol bottle.

"Brave girl," he murmured, pulling the bottle out of her reach as he shook his head in amazement. He tipped the alcohol onto a scrap of cloth and scooted his chair closer. Erik ran his bottom lip between his teeth as he cleaned some of the blood from about the protruding glass. Brielle remained perfectly still as the liquid began to burn. And when he deftly worked the first piece of glass from her flesh she didn't make a sound, though tears began to push against her eyelids. Only when he pulled the second bit of glass free did she jerk in pain.

At her sudden movement, Erik made a calming hum in the back of his throat as he gently caressed her instep. His touch and the steady thrumming sound issuing from his voice soothed her, and slowly she relaxed against his hands.

"You seem to have an acceptable knowledge of basic medicine," she began shakily, as drop of sticky sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades. "Wherever did you learn how to treat injuries?"

"Here and there," he replied, eyes focused upon the bottom of her foot as he further cleaned the area. Setting the bloody piece of cloth aside, he glanced up at her. "When I was younger I did some traveling. Somewhere in the course of my wanderings I learned how to doctor wounds."

This was the first time Erik had ever mentioned his past. Brielle smiled quietly at this realization. "That is how I learned as well. My father was a military surgeon. We were always moving wherever they needed his skills. I learned most of what I know of medicine from him and those we met on our travels."

When he threaded one of the needles in her bag, Brielle suddenly became anxious. "How many times have you done stitches before?"

A thoughtful expression creased his forehead. "I don't actually recall having ever stitched up a wound," he said calmly. Brielle was on the verge of escaping his inexperienced hands when the crazed man winked at her.

"You are teasing me aren't you!"

He merely shrugged his reply, leaning in close, needle in hand. Brielle braced herself just in time to quell her reaction to the first searing stitch. Erik worked quickly, every movement a study in efficiency. Before she knew it he leaned back in his chair, gathering up the used medical materials.

Glancing down at her foot, Brielle was impressed by his work. "What fine stitching, Erik. I couldn't have done better myself."

"I suppose that is a compliment of some sort."

"Well, absolutely. After all, I have never met anyone else as good as I am," she said with a laugh as she unwound a length of cotton bandages. She carefully wrapped the material around and around her stitched heel as Erik continued to clean up the mess.

A scuffling sound at the doorway drew Brielle's attention away from the task at hand. Aria stood sheepishly at the library entrance, shuffling from one foot to the other. "M-Momma I am s-sorry I broke the v-vase and hurt your f-foot." the child mumbled, her eyes downcast.

"Oh, honey that is alright. It was an accident. But what were you doing near those flowers anyway?"

"I w-was getting s-some flowers for Erik's h-hair," Aria said.

Confused, Brielle looked to Erik for an explanation, but he seemed just as perplexed as her. "What do you mean?"

"Flowers for E-Erik's hair," Aria said, holding up her doll and sticking a thumb in her mouth.

"You named your new doll Erik?"

When Aria nodded, Brielle laughed. "Aria, Erik is a boy's name." The little girl only hugged the doll closer, not apparently minding this little fact.

Brielle was about to discuss the matter further when there was a sharp knock at the front door. "Sweet Mary, I hope that isn't another blasted messenger," she mumbled before thinking better of it.

Aria disappeared down the hall even before the words were completely out of the Irish woman's mouth. Erik had stilled at the knocking, his face turned to stone. Heaving a sigh Brielle staggered to her feet, carefully keeping the weight of her bad foot. "I'll see who it is. Hopefully they won't be staying."

Hobbling to the hall, Brielle just barely caught a soft growl coming from the man behind her. Shaking her head she continued on, clutching at furniture for support as she made her way slowly down the hall. Another series of knocks shook her door, making her curse the visitor's impatience.

"I am coming!" she shouted, nearly tipping over the umbrella stand as she passed it. With a huff Brielle drew open the front door, ready to upbraid the impatient messenger. The sight of a pair of uniformed policemen standing outside stayed her biting words.

"What seems to be the problem, officers?" she asked uncertainly.


	22. A Little White Lie

**It is official I have finally posted the edited versions of all my chapters. Juliana is a wiz and finished them all about a week and a half ago. But I only just now have posted them. It really is amazing what a difference a good beta makes to a story.**

**Anyway I am glad to present the next chapter, and in less than a week too! Hurray! Hope everyone likes it! Oh and thanks again to all of my reviewers yet again! It always makes my day to read the reviews I get.**

Chapter 22: A Little White Lie

Brielle drew open the heavy front door with a grunt, her mouth open and ready to rebuke the impatient caller. When her eyes fell not on a road worn messenger boy but a pair of smartly dressed police officers, her jaw snapped shut in shock.

The sight of the lawmen, in their heavy wool overcoats with shining brass buttons, sent her heart to pounding within her chest. She knew they couldn't have any issue with her in particular, she hadn't done anything wrong. But still, just the sight of their smart, clean appearance made her nervous.

Suddenly, the memory of another time when two uniformed men had come to her door flashed before her eyes. Only those men hand been soldiers, and they had had the inglorious task of delivering death notices.

Shaking her head clear of these memories, Brielle smiled uncertainly at the two men. "What seems to be the problem, officers?" she asked politely, her eyes flickering between them.

Both men stood ramrod straight, their posture evidence of both discipline and professionalism. As Brielle continued to study them, she was able to see past the anonymity of their clothing to the vast differences in their physical features. The man standing a step closer to the door was perhaps in his mid fifties. He had a round, wind-roughened face and large working class hands. The second officer was much younger, barely more than a boy. He was slightly taller than the older gentleman, his sandy blond hair and warm brown eyes more akin to a young farm boy than a hard bitten lawman.

The younger of the pair offered up an affable smile and removed his hat. "There is no problem, Madame. We are only here to ask a few simple questions."

At the young man's words the older man grunted and shot his partner an irritated glare. Being the ranking officer, he surely had wanted to speak first. Likewise removing his cap, the man sucked up his great belly and turned his attention back to Brielle.

"Madame I am Detective Le Clarke and this is my overeager associate Sergeant Beaumont." The detective paused then to pull a small, worn notebook out of his vest pocket. "You are Madame Donovan, correct?"

Brielle nodded her head, mystified as to what these two men could want. "Yes, I am Brielle Donovan," she affirmed slowly, pulling the door close to her side. She suddenly had the distinct impression that Le Clarke should not have a clear view into the house. Both men were being terribly polite, but warning bells were beginning to blare inside her head.

Le Clarke licked his thumb and turned a page in his small book; his bushy brows drew down, obscuring his pale blue eyes as he read for a moment. "And did you buy two tickets to the Opera Populaire's production of Don Juan Triumphant on the date of January the 20th?"

At this strange line of questioning Brielle's inquiring expression changed to one of confusion. "Yes, but what is this all about gentlemen? Why do you want to know that I went to the Opera over two and a half months ago?"

With a sigh the large man replaced his notebook in his pocket and offered her a crafty smile. "I am sure you are aware of the unfortunate incident at the Opera House if you attended that performance." He waited a beat, apparently waiting for some sort of reaction. When she merely stared back at him he cleared his throat and continued. "When the chandelier fell it injured seventeen people - seventeen prominent people."

"I am fully aware of what happened, Detective," Brielle snapped, his patronizing tone irritating her. "One does not forget such an _unfortunate incident_ as you put it."

Beaumont stepped forward then, an apologetic smile causing the dimples in his cheeks to flash momentarily. "Please excuse us Madame. We did not intend to upset you. We have been investigating the Opera disaster for a couple months now. We have interviewed most of the people present at the performance to try and piece together what actually happened. You are one of the last on the list. It has taken us a great deal of time to locate your current residence." He gave a friendly chuckle while turning his cap about in his hands.

"I will aid you in your investigation in any way I can, but I do not believe I will be of much help."

Le Clarke nudged Beaumont back behind him again with his elbow. "You may be surprised how even the smallest detail could later become the key to a case. Please, did you notice anything strange that night? Perhaps you met someone who seemed out of place?"

An uneasy sinking feeling began to weigh heavily in the pit of her stomach. There was only one unusual man she met that night and he was currently cleaning up the library. "Excuse me sir, but I can't understand how my opinion of someone would help your investigation. After all what do I know of the people who work in the Opera? They all seemed strange to me."

"Well, Madame seeing as we have interviewed many of the people who were there at the time it will be a simple matter of deducing who did not belong. And when we find him, that man will have an appointment with the executioner." Le Clarke said with a laugh, both his hands rising to pat at his bulbous middle.

"I did not meet anyone that night who I considered to be a dangerous individual."

Le Clarke pursed his lips at that and took one step forward, beginning to crowd her. "Tell me Madame, who did you go with that night?"

"Excuse me?" she asked indignantly, refusing to be intimidated by this rude man's juvenile attempts to throw her off guard.

"You bought two tickets did you not?"

"Yes, but what does that have anything to do with your investigation?" she inquired, shifting all her weight onto her good foot. Carefully she raised her injured heel from the ground, trying to relieve some of the pressure upon her wounds.

Once again Beaumont stepped forward, looking slightly embarrassed at the detective's unmannerly questioning. "We recently received a letter stating that a Madame Donovan was harboring a suspicious character within this household. And given the fact that you attended the Opera's last performance we were pressed to question you over this matter."

Flabbergasted, Brielle ran a nervous hand over her hip, smoothing skirts which did not need to be smoothed. "Who sent you this letter? I have no idea what it may be referring to."

"The letter was not signed, Madame. We do not know who sent it, but because of the seriousness of the situation we had to follow its lead."

"I understand, but let me assure you that the man you are looking for is not in this house. The letter must have been some sort of prank. I am truly sorry I cannot help you in your search for justice, but I really must begin breakfast for the household. A good day to you both," she offered while turning to close the door in their faces.

Before the door could swing shut Le Clarke wedged his foot in the jamb, stopping Brielle's retreat. Surprise over the heavy man's quickness delayed her outrage for a split second. When Le Clarke placed his hand on the edge of the door to pry it open further the anger finally infused Brielle's expression, staining her cheeks scarlet.

"Due to the seriousness of the situation, Madame, we must humbly request a search of the premises. It is our duty to fully explore every lead and we will not have done that if we simply leave now."

"You wish to search my home?" she asked through clenched teeth, her temper lilting her French almost beyond recognition.

"Only to ensure you safety Madame," Beaumont added with a smile as he stepped forward to stand directly behind his superior.

"My safety is obviously not the issue here. What you two are truly after is to find the first scapegoat you come across and stick that poor man with a crime neither one of you can solve! I will not allow it!" she hissed, her voice steadily rising to shout the last word.

The smile upon the young sergeant's face faded quickly at her words. He began to turn his hat faster and faster within his hands. "Now, stop right there Madame. That isn't exactly true and…"

"Oh shut up Beaumont!" The detective huffed as he gave the door a good shove, sending it flying open and Brielle stumbling backwards. Pain shot up her heel as she came down hard on her injured foot. "Now Madame we have the authority to search the grounds with or without your permission. We do not have the time, however, to continue to bicker with a self-righteous woman! Please move aside!"

"Er, Detective perhaps we could come back another time and…"

"Shut your mouth Beaumont!" Le Clarke bellowed as he waddled over the threshold.

At the sound of the detective's shout, all other human noise within the house came to an uneasy halt. The soft piano music tinkling in the background crashed to an awkward stop and was quickly followed by a series of pattering footsteps. Aria appeared in the parlor doorway, her doll clutched under one arm. The child stared at the policemen for a split second before turning to race down the hall.

Planting herself in front of the two men, Brielle momentarily halted their progress. Her intimidating stance was only slightly ruined by the limp in her walk. "If you are intent upon invading my home, then at least allow me to show you around. Lord knows what you two hooligans will do if I don't have my eye upon you. And if you track mud onto my clean carpets I'll…"

The echo of heavy masculine footsteps marching down the hallway cut her off. Le Clarke tilted his head to the side as a smile sneaked across his face. "And who might that be Madame Donovan?"

Brielle tilted her chin up, glaring down her nose at the heavy man. "That," she began without hesitation. "would be my husband."

The knowing smile died on Le Clarke's face. "You are married?"

Huffing as she pointedly checked the clock on the wall, Brielle squared her shoulders. "Of course, you scoundrel. Why have you been calling me Madame if you did not assume I was married?"

"Why does your husband allow you to answer the door to strange men while he is home?" he asked suspiciously.

"If you wait here a moment you may ask him yourselves," she said, turning to hobble as quickly as she could down the hallway, hoping all the way to intercept Erik before he could burst upon the policemen unawares.

Listening with one ear to make sure Le Clarke stayed where she had left him, Brielle picked up her skirts and began hopping down the hall to increase her speed. She turned the first corner and ran face first into a solid wall of warmth. Gasping aloud Brielle stumbled backwards. Two large hands wrapped about each of her arms to steady her.

"Brielle, who the hell was at the door? And who the hell was shouting at you just now?" Erik asked, his eyes blazing as he looked over her head, searching for the source of the noise.

"Shh! You must listen! I don't have time to explain but please just trust me, alright? And for the love of God just play along no matter what I say!" she hissed hurriedly, as she grabbed one of his hands and began to pull him towards the front hallway.

"What are you talking about?"

Ignoring his question she clamped a hand over his mouth and continued to jerk him down the hallway. When they rounded the corner and came partially into view of the front hallway, Brielle stopped suddenly and glanced quickly over her shoulder to assure herself that Le Clarke had not moved. Finding the policemen where she had left them, Brielle turned her eyes up to Erik's confused face.

And then she did something she had sworn to herself to never do to another man again.

Without a word Brielle hopped one step closer to him, fitting her body flush against his as she quickly reached up and gripped his lapels. She hesitated a moment trying desperately to catch her breath as her heart galloped within her chest. When Erik began to mount a protest to her strange behavior all hesitation vanished as she gave a jerk on his collar and covered his mouth with her own.

The masked man went utterly still at her touch, his arms stiff at his sides, his very breath frozen with his lungs. But his eyes came alive in that moment, glittering with the light of hundreds of nameless emotions, burning with a heat which could put the sun's fire to shame.

Brielle had intended to simply place a light, affectionate kiss on the corner of Erik's mouth to assuage the detective's doubts over his presence in the house. But once her lips first brushed his, all of her intentions, all of her plans flew out the window. A trembling began in her hands that she couldn't explain as she clung desperately to the open lapels of his shirt, holding on for dear life as the tremors spread, shaking the very foundations of her heart. She felt it so deep that it hurt - a sweet, sad, seizing of the soul.

She felt scorched, washed clean to the bone by the inferno raging behind the electric blue of his eyes. Unable to bear the intensity of his gaze any longer Brielle forced her eyes closed, becoming lost in the darkness of the primal fire roaring through her veins. Sound and time faded as she strained upwards on the tips of her toes, longing to be closer, longing to feel this way just a little longer. To finally feel alive again after so long.

When Brielle distantly felt the weight of his hands finally come up to wrap vice-like about the curve of her hips, fear edged into the raging of her blood, dampening the racing of her heart. She turned her face from his then, shaking with the effort it took to break the contact. _What was I doing? What is wrong with me!_

Nervously running her teeth over the tingling skin of her bottom lip Brielle eased away from Erik and took a deep, wit-saving breath. She could feel his eyes upon her, moving over her skin like a touch. The warmth of his hands at her waist sent chills galloping up her spine. But she couldn't bring herself to look up at him - felt too ashamed of her actions to meet the reproach she knew must be in his gaze.

"Just follow my lead," she murmured shakily before trying to step fully away from his grasp. Her cowardly retreat was halted by the ungiving hands still clasped around her waist. Only then did she dare to look up at his face. When she caught his expression she wished she had kept her eyes upon the floor.

He stood still as granite, his face immobile, except for the tiniest tremor beginning to shake his lower lip. But it was the promise she saw in his eyes which made her knees turn to water and her heart stop within her chest.

Desperate now, she pulled away from his touch and he let her go. A moment more spent within his arms and she would have lost her mind completely. Who would have thought one man could have the power to steal her very will from her?

Turning away from him, she edged around the corner and stepped into full view of the policemen. "Gentlemen," she began after clearing her throat. "I would like you to meet my husband Jonathan."

At the sight of the uniformed men Erik shied backward like a horse startled by a viper; only her hand upon his arm kept him from completely retreating. "He hates having unwanted visitors, especially when he is working, so if you would please ask your questions and leave we would appreciate it."

Le Clarke eyes unabashedly swept over the curves of Erik's mask before finally meeting the man's eyes. "You are Jonathan Donovan, monsieur?"

The genuine confusion wrinkling Erik's brow only served to add realism to the lie Brielle had created. "I suppose I am," he began, his eyes shooting a heated glare Brielle's way. "And who may I ask are you, sir?"

The detective once again introduced himself and his partner before barreling on with his questions. "Monsieur Donovan, we are investigating the incident which occurred at the Paris Opera House two months ago and we came to ask your wife some questions about what happened. We also received a letter which stated a suspicious character was living in this household and we must determine if that person has any connection to the case."

At the mention of the Opera House Erik's hand spasmed once within hers, and though his expression remained carefully stoic, Brielle could see him go pale. It was understandable, considering she had found him nearly dead in its cellars.

"Any letter you received most likely is in reference to me, gentlemen." Erik stated calmly after a moment. "Occasionally strangers passing by are slightly surprised to see a man of my distinct characteristics." With one hand he indicated his mask before continuing. "Unfortunately, this sort of thing has happened before. I am sorry you have troubled yourselves over such a trifling incidence."

Brielle nodded, thankful that he was playing out the lie so well. "Yes, poor John was burned as a child when the family's summer estate accidentally burned to the ground," she said whilst patting Erik's arm.

Beaumont nodded in understanding, apparently convinced, but Le Clarke continued to frown at Brielle, as if trying to unravel the charade she had concocted. When the large man opened his mouth to continue his questioning, Erik interrupted. "Might I have your badge number sir?" he asked politely.

Startled by the change of subject, Le Clarke looked to Erik in confusion. "Why would you need my…"

"Well I figured it would make things easier when reporting the man who bellowed at my wife, barged into my house, and frightened our daughter if I had his badge number. Now tell me, how long do you think it takes a detective to be busted down to a lowly street cop when it is discovered that he bullies wealthy men's wives?" Erik demanded his voice remaining quiet but the tone of his words turned ominous.

Le Clarke's mouth fell open in shock at Erik's words, his Adam's apple working furiously within his throat as he gulped down a nervous breath. Suddenly all of the bully in the great man melted down to nothing. "Monsieur, I meant no offense - I was merely doing my job and…"

"Seeing as we have answered your questions, I will overlook your damned rudeness if you turn about and take yourself off this property. You have all you need for your investigation. So get out!"

Le Clarke jumped slightly at Erik's final statement and backed up a step from the taller man. "Certainly, sir. I think we were about done anyway," he said as he grabbed Beaumont's arm and pushed the sergeant towards the front door.

The younger officer turned as he opened the door and nodded his head to both Brielle and Erik. "Sorry for disturbing your morning," he said apologetically before being pulled through the doorway by the fleeing detective.

Brielle stepped forwards and watched the pair climb into their open carriage and head off down the lane. The awkward jostling of the wheels in the icy mud slowed the policemen's progress, but soon the wagon picked up a respectable speed. She waited until the police wagon had disappeared around a corner before slowly shutting the door, a triumphant smile blazing across her face.

Whirling around, Brielle clasped her hands together smugly. "Ha! The boar must have been a dolt to try and mess with an injured Irishwoman!" she said, pumping a fist in the air. When the man in front of her answered only in silence, Brielle dropped her hands to her sides, the excitement dissipating quickly.

"Why did you do that?" came the quiet question, his voice still pitched low in that dangerously misleading tone he had used against Le Clarke.

Brielle opened her mouth to answer, but found all the words dry up within her throat. Was he asking about the lie or the kiss? Either way, she was suddenly finding it rather difficult to form a rational reason to substantiate either case.

"Remember the night I brought you here?" At his nod, she pushed away from the door and continued. "I don't know if you are aware, but that night the chandelier fell into the audience, injuring about seventeen people. Those policemen wanted me to tell them about anyone I saw who seemed out of place. They wanted to dump the blame on the first unfortunate man they could."

When Erik continued to stare silently at her, Brielle found herself beginning to babble on, building up her words like a dam between them, trying to stem the flow of emotion hanging in the air. "I didn't want them to know how you came to this house because I knew they would find it strange. So the first thought that popped into my head was to say you were my husband. And about kissing you like that. I truly am sorry. I don't know what came over me. But I figured that they wouldn't ask so many questions if I made the whole thing convincing and I…"

"No, I mean, why did you cover up for me in the first place?"

Surprised he would ask such an obvious question, Brielle fell silent for a moment. "Erik, I tend to make it a habit to stand up for my friends."

Something angry and violent flashed across his face as he turned his gaze to the floor, brooding. "You shouldn't have lied to the police, Brielle. People get in trouble when they lie to the police."

"Oh? And what else should I have done? I wasn't going to let them take you off and put you in jail!"

He growled and advanced on her then, backing her into the wall. "You should have! You don't understand! I don't deserve your loyalty! I don't deserve you risking your good name for my sake!" Erik hissed, reaching out to grip her shoulders with a bruising force.

His shoulders drooped then as if a terrible weight had suddenly settled on his back. "Brielle," he murmured raggedly. "I have to tell you something. Something terrible."

Brielle held still in his grip, transfixed by the grave tone to his words. And when he finally raised his gaze back up to hers, she saw the horror that lived deep within the wasteland of his eyes.

"What is it?" she asked, suddenly afraid of what he might tell her.

Just as Erik opened his mouth, the front door flew open, banging against the wall with enough force to make the pictures on the wall jump. Brielle whirled in Erik's grasp, expecting to see Le Clarke looming on her doorstep. She cursed vividly when her eyes fell not on the heavy policeman but the grinning form of her brother.

With his violin in hand Conner stepped through the doorway, a devilish smile plastered across his freckled face. "My, my I leave for two weeks and here you two are already in each other's arms! Unhand my sister, sir!"


	23. A Brother's Return

**Hey everyone! Here is the next chapter for you all! All hail Juliana for her quickness in editing this chapter! It is finals week and she was still able to get it back to me in all haste!**

**Oh and as a side note to the question over if Conner is an Aries or a Sagittarius. I hadn't really thought about it until just now. But if I had to pick between those two choices I would say he is an Aries. I have actually been really pleased about everyone's interest in Conner. He is a great character and I am glad most people seem to agree with me. **

**By the way, in case it comes up later on, I also decided that Brielle is most like a Cancer, given her reserve to strangers but loyalty to family and friends. **

**But anyway enjoy this chapter! **

Chapter 23: A Brother's Return

With his violin in hand Conner stepped through the doorway, a devilish smile plastered across his freckled face. "My, my, I leave for two weeks and here you two are already in each others arms! Unhand my sister sir!"

Erik didn't move, despite Conner's flamboyant command. No, it was worse than that; he found that he _couldn't_ move. He stood perfectly still, his gaze riveted upon Brielle's face. Even when her eyes left him he couldn't turn from her, couldn't tear his gaze away from the soft curve of her cheek, the hollow of her throat, the fullness of her wonderful lips.

Why couldn't he look away? When had he lost his discipline so completely that he couldn't even turn his head away from this one woman?

Could it be because of the kiss? She was the second woman in his lifetime that had touched her lips to his, but surely that couldn't be the reason why he had suddenly lost his mind. Even after Christine had kissed him under the Opera house he remembered being able to think, to move, and he had been in love with her. _This is something different. I don't love Brielle…I don't._

And then it occurred to him why he was covered in a cold sweat and paralyzed from head to toe. Just before Conner had burst into the house Erik had been about to tell Brielle the truth about his part in the _unfortunate situation_ at the Opera House. That was why he couldn't look away from her now, because if he had actually told her what he had done, what he was, he would most certainly have lost her.

A woman like her, one who valued life so highly, would never be able to suffer the company of a murderer. And he was a murderer, no matter what the circumstances of each death had been. A killing was a killing, whether done in self-defense or in cold blood.

The blood he had spilt over his lifetime had soaked into every crevice of his soul, staining him black and eating away at his dreams. He should never have thought to burden Brielle with this knowledge. To spread his darkness into her light.

He could have lost everything.

With a shuddering breath, Erik slowly closed his eyes. Conner was speaking, he knew, but the man's voice sounded far away and garbled, drowned out by the roar of his thoughts. Only when he felt the cool trails of Brielle's fingers brushing his cheek was he able to move.

Slowly opening his eyes, Erik involuntarily turned his face into her touch. There was concern in her gaze as she laid her palm against his jaw. She had a right to be concerned; apparently he was becoming a raving lunatic.

"You look pale Erik. Are you alright?" At her words Conner stopped chattering and tilted his head to the side, mimicking his sister's close analysis of Erik's face right down to the furrow between his eyebrows.

"You needn't look so stricken Erik. I was only teasing you both when I came in. You have my full permission to manhandle my sister as often as you please." Though the redhead stated this with a straight, sober expression, his eyes danced merrily from under the strange wide-brimmed hat upon his head.

"Conner!" Brielle immediately gasped in shock. "Whatever has gotten into your head? Is that any way to speak? You are positively shocking!"

Ignoring his sister's outrage, Conner continued to stare steadily at the masked man. The hilarity in the redhead's gaze undid the writhing knot of tension coiled within Erik's gut. Unable to stand up against both Brielle's righteous outrage and Conner's uncouth nature, a smile cracked the corners of his mouth.

As if that was what he was waiting for, Conner likewise grinned before turning to take off his overcoat. "Now, now Bri. A brother has a right to look after his sister."

"You have lost your mind!"

"I have not!" he exclaimed, mimicking anger. Quickly crossing the room, Conner held out his arms and enveloped his sister in an affectionate embrace. "I missed you, love. England was dreary without my family."

"Oh, you are a terrible liar! You always have a wonderful time no matter where you are." Brielle said with a laugh, giving her brother's hat a flick with the tip of her finger. "Where did you get this horrible hat?"

"Horrible?" he asked affecting a hurt expression. "I stole this from the Texan who wouldn't pay what he owed me for our poker game! All the cowboys wear Stetsons," he said cockily, adding a bit of a swagger to his step.

"You are a cad, not a cowboy!" At her words, Conner stopped his preening and burst into laughter before kissing her upon the forehead, mussing her already disheveled hair.

Erik began to step away from the pair, intending to give their reunion proper space, but Conner's hand upon his arm stopped him. Looking over the top of Brielle's head the redhead's smile dimmed slightly. "Brielle, I am nearly dying of hunger. Would you mind fixing your dear brother a wee bit to eat?"

"Normally I would say fix it yourself, but seeing as I haven't yet gotten Aria her breakfast, I suppose I can make yours as well."

"Ah, there's a sweet lass," he replied, giving her hip a playful swat. "Off with you now. And mind that foot, else you'll make whatever you did to it worse," Conner called after his sister as she began to hobble down the hallway.

When the two men were finally left alone in the front hall, Conner grimaced and set his violin carefully on a nearby shelf. "What did she do to her foot anyway?"

Still a little muddled, Erik blinked in confusion, suddenly wondering exactly how much of what had happened that morning Conner knew. After all, this family always seemed to be two steps ahead of him. "How do you know she injured her foot?"

Rolling his eyes, Conner slapped a hand onto Erik's shoulder. "She is limping worse than a lame horse. Of course she did something to her foot. I may be a cad, but I am not blind."

Feeling very foolish, Erik merely nodded. The sensation of Conner's arm draped companionably over his shoulders was distracting him. It was still difficult for him to adjust to this family's ease with physical contact. Though, he had to admit, he didn't dislike their ways.

"Speaking of blindness, I do believe I must have a word with you." Conner stated whilst steering Erik down the hall and into the parlor.

Not liking the sudden seriousness in Conner's tone, Erik began to tense. "Oh, and what might that be?" he asked, with a slight growl.

Releasing Erik and striding over to the piano, Conner crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned a hip against the baby grand. He cocked an eyebrow at Erik's tone, but chose to ignore it. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I must ask you to be careful of Bri. She isn't as tough as she thinks she is."

Erik opened his mouth to reply, but Conner raised a hand to stop him. "She is a pretty girl and Lord knows she could use a good romance, but…"

Sputtering when he realized where Conner's words were leading, Erik took a step forward. "You misunderstand our relationship, sir. What you are suggesting is…"

A knowing smile slowly spread over the redhead's freckled face. "Are you trying to tell me you have been alone in this house with Brielle for two full weeks and you haven't once thought about…well need I even say it?"

Erik gaped open-mouthed at the other man, actually scandalized by the conversation. "Yes, er, I mean no! As I was saying, what you are suggesting is absolutely impossible!"

With a grunt, Conner ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "Impossible? Then you haven't tried to kiss her yet?"

A blush slowly flowed up Erik's neck and stained his cheeks scarlet. Horrified by his telling reaction, he squared his shoulders and fixed a dark brooding frown upon his face, hoping to distract Brielle's brother from his flushed cheeks. "I can honestly say I have not tried to lay hands upon your sister, sir!"

Unaffected by the masked man's glare, Conner sighed. "Sweet Mary, what the hell have you been waiting for then?"

Blinking in confusion, Erik's glare faltered. "Excuse me?"

"Well, what did you think I was staying away so long for?"

"Are you trying to tell me that you want your sister to become involved with a man she picked up from the bottom of an Opera House whom you hardly know! Didn't you just say you wanted me to stay away from her?"

"No," Conner began slowly, as if speaking to a difficult child. "I didn't ask you to stay away from her. I asked you to be careful of her. She had a terrible time of it when John died, but it is time she began to live her life again. And I like you, despite the fact that you are so serious all the time. That is one thing that you have in your favor over all the other boys that come sniffing about."

"I can't believe you are saying this."

"Ah well, I am a man ahead of my time. I can recognize when a lady needs a good kissing. And boy does my sister need to be kissed, and often."

"And you have chosen me to fulfill this task? Are you mad?" Erik asked, feeling a spike of fury stab through the confusion. How dare this man so casually suggest such a thing? As if being with a woman were as easy as falling off a log. It was infuriating.

"Maybe a little," Conner replied, removing his black cowboy hat and setting it on the piano next to him. The Cheshire cat grin was back in place, though his emerald eyes carefully followed Erik's form as the masked man began to pace about the room.

"No, that is where you are wrong. You are _absolutely_ crazy!" Erik exploded, while jabbing a finger through the air at the other man. "How can you be so casual about your own sister's reputation? Do you do this often? Act the matchmaker like an old woman? Or is this a special case because for some reason you find it funny to torment your fellow man with impossibilities!"

As Erik ranted, Conner merely continued to follow him with his eyes, his arms still firmly crossed on his chest, one ankle hooked comfortably over the other. The Irishman didn't appear to be properly frightened of the furious display playing out before him, though his characteristic grin did fade down to a frown.

After several minutes of listening to extremely inventive cursing, Conner apparently had had enough. Pushing away from the piano he took one step towards Erik, instantly grabbing the raving man's attention. "Alright then boyo, seems to me I have stumbled upon a sore spot with you. Not very lucky with the ladies, eh?" he drawled, deliberately accentuating the lilt of his speech over the cruel words.

Erik froze in place for a split second, struck stupid as the blinding fury rolled red across his vision, before throwing himself across the room and into Conner's abdomen, tackling the redhead to the ground. The pair rolled across the Persian rugs, fists swinging, until Erik's back smashed into one of the piano's legs. A booklet of sheet music jostled free and came cascading down upon their heads as Erik took a shot and split Conner's lip.

With a violent shove Conner threw Erik off and sat up, bumping his head on the bottom of the piano. Carefully running his tongue over the cut on his bottom lip, a lopsided grin once again tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Damn it, you hit harder than a kicking mule!" he exclaimed, while wiping the blood from his chin. "Ah, but I have found a very sore spot. Tell me Erik who was she? The one that broke your heart…"

"Keep talking you insipid, moronic bastard and I'll rip your tongue out!" Erik hissed, flexing his aching knuckles with a sneer.

"Is that what is stopping you then?" Conner interrupted trying to smooth out the wildness of his hair.

"I am warning you…"

"Warn away my friend. I'll take anything you can throw." Conner shot right back, as he cracked his knuckles ominously. "So, was it because she met someone else or because she finally got tired of listening to you whine about the unfairness of…"

Conner ducked Erik's next punch; tucking his head under, he rammed into the older man, knocking them both off their feet. With a grunt they hit the ground hard, the echo of bodies thumping against wood reverberating about the house. Over the sawing of their harsh breathing, the sound of a pan being hastily tossed onto the stove could be heard.

After scuffling about on the floor for several more minutes, the pair broke apart panting. Erik clutched at his mask to assure himself it was still in place as Conner flopped flat onto the ground, one bloodied hand coming up to cover his eyes.

"Are you quite done yet?" Conner finally asked when he could catch his breath. When there was no reply but brooding silence from Erik, the redhead turned his head and squinted over at the other man.

"Am I done?" Erik shot back, the anger still hot in his tone. "You, sir, are the one who started all this. Whatever did I do to you that prompted such cruelty?"

"Cruel? Is that what you thought I was being?" Conner asked, for once not smiling. With a grunt he sat up, several unruly red locks falling into his eyes as he stared intently over at Erik. "Listen, to me very carefully. Bri likes you. She has responded to you more than anyone else in the last four years. A part of her died the day they put John in the ground and only very recently have I seen her begin to come to life again. And that is because of you. So I decided not to let you mess everything up, even if it means I have to bleed a little to make a point."

Touching a finger to his bruised lip, Conner finally turned his gaze away from the man slouched a few feet from him. "What is really holding you back? In the beginning maybe it was another girl, but what is it now?"

Too tired to argue anymore Erik shook his head, trying desperately to keep up with what was going on. "You speak of things that just aren't meant to be. You misunderstand our relationship; I am her friend…nothing more."

"Damn, but you must be a dolt if you believe that. Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Shut your mouth! You don't know what it is like. Such things must be easy for you!" Erik spat, stabbing a finger in Conner's direction. "There is nothing to be desired in your looks. You are a god damned Irish Adonis! The women must fawn all over your eyes, your hair, your face! I hate men like you, who take it for granted that they are being admired." Clamoring to his knees, Erik slammed a frustrated fist against the floor, sorry suddenly that he had revealed so much to this moron.

Leaning back on his elbows, Conner sighed, apparently not insulted by Erik's barbing. "I thought as much, I just needed to get you to say it," he murmured to himself.

"You what!" Erik sputtered.

"I figured if I let you beat on me a bit it would work out some of your stiffness and loosen your tongue," he replied with a pained grin. "Admitting a problem is a good start to getting over it."

"There is nothing to get over! I am a bloody monster!"

"Has Brielle ever shown you a picture of Jonathan?" Conner cut in suddenly, one eyebrow cocked in inquiry.

"What has that got to do with any…"

"Has she!"

"No you baboon!"

"Did she ever mention the fire then?"

Unable to predict where Conner was going with this line of thought, Erik merely shook his head. "No I don't believe so."

"You realize there isn't anything in the world that would surprise Bri. She has seen men's heads taken off by cannon balls and soldiers so burned that their bodies were nothing more than mummified flesh."

"I know that, but…"

"Did you also know, oh wise one, that she married a man who was severely burned as a child when the Donovan summer estate burned down? He was badly scarred down one whole side of his face. But our Bri has the unique ability to see things others cannot. Convenient, isn't it?"

Caught completely off guard, Erik could only gape at Conner.

"Ah, I see you didn't know all this."

"She did mention something about a fire, but I thought it was to just cover up for…" Erik trailed off at a loss for words, even as his mind turned furiously within his head. Could it be possible? Had he actually found a woman who would be able to look upon his face without shuddering? It was too much to hope for. He couldn't allow himself to hope for such things, for eventually his dreams would surely be dashed against the harshness of reality.

Slowly Erik brought one hand up to splay across the coolness of his mask. He closed his eyes against the images now floating unbidden through his head. Brielle smiling at him over the breakfast table drifted into his thoughts, only to be replaced by the sight of her long, graceful leg which only just that morning he had held in his hands. God, her skin had been so soft. _Damn it, this is all Conner's fault!_

"Don't throw something good away just because you are scared of what might happen," Conner stated slowly as he stumbled to his feet. Turning, the red headed man held out a hand to Erik to help him up just as Brielle marched into the room. Sometime during the time she had been gone she had managed to pin her hair atop her head. Though her appearance was now more respectable the annoyance flooding her face caused her to seem flustered and unkempt.

"What the bloody hell have you two been doing in here?" she demanded, her hands fisted upon her hips in classic Brielle battle mode.

"We were just talking. Weren't we, Erik?" Conner lied easily as he quickly pulled the masked man to his feet.

"Oh, save it!" Brielle sighed as she stepped into the room, carefully maneuvering around the scattered music sheets. "I told you, Conner, not to start brawling in this house. I'll have your hide if you broke anything!"

Huffing, Conner pulled off his askew cravat and tossed it over his shoulder. "We didn't break anything. But thank you for being so worried about our wellbeing. I am bleeding, you know!"

"You can bleed to death for all I care, so long as it isn't on my new carpets."

Conner merely laughed at that. "Or on that lovely dress. My, my Bri, you do look splendid today!"

Self-consciously bringing a hand up to cover the low swoop of her neckline, Brielle glared at her brother before hobbling over to where Erik now stood. She gazed up at him, her eyes quickly assessing his face for any injury. He felt the severe downward pull of his mouth soften slightly.

Her eyes were always a fascination for him. On first glance they appeared to be simply gray, but upon closer examination one could find worlds of color drifting in the infinity of her irises. Though he didn't want to admit it, he could imagine losing himself in her eyes for the rest of his life. Despite all his reservations, a grain of hope had taken hold within his heart. _What am I going to do?_

"Are you alright? He didn't hurt you did he?"

Erik blinked, trying to clear his thoughts when Brielle's voice broke into his musings. "Hmm, did you say something?"

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at his uncharacteristic lack of eloquence. "I asked if you were alright."

"Perfectly fine," he replied warily, taking a step away from her.

The grin finally broke free and blazed across her face. "Well at least there is that. Anyway boys, I came in to tell you both that breakfast is…"

Brielle's words cut off in the middle of her sentence, as suddenly as if a hand had clamped unseen over her mouth. Her gaze drifted away from Erik's to stare unfocused over his shoulder. He watched with growing anxiety as her pupils dilated and overtook the soft misty hue of her eyes, turning them nearly black. Her brows slowly rose as an expression of raw terror sucked all the color from her cheeks.

"Brielle," he began, one hand tentatively reaching out to brush her arm. When she didn't respond to his voice, he took hold of her wrist. "Brielle, what is the matter!"

Hearing the worry in Erik's voice, Conner came striding across the room. "What is going on?"

"I don't know. She was talking to me and then she just stopped," he snapped while waving a hand in front of her vacant eyes. "Brielle!"

Conner went suspiciously quiet at Erik's words, slowing his steps as he came alongside his sister. "Don't worry. She'll be fine," he murmured as he brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Has she been having nightmares lately?"

"How should I know!"

Waving off Erik's reply, Conner sighed. "Never mind then." Carefully, the redhead placed a hand on Brielle's shoulder; leaning in close, he put his mouth next to her ear.

"Bri, love, what is the matter?" Still she didn't answer as she stared off at nothing, barely even blinking all the while. Shooting a wary glance Erik's way, Conner rephrased the question. "Bri, what do you see?"

Without looking away from a spot on the wall, Brielle replied slowly, "It is dark. Black all around, but there is a light above. Like a crack in the sky. Someone is leaning over the light looking down, but it is so cold. Do you see him?" Her hands began to shake violently as a series of shivers wracked her body. "It's cold….and I can't breathe….I can't breathe!"

"What the hell is going on!" Erik demanded loudly, the anxiety quickly turning to sickening fear. _What if something is terribly wrong? She could be very ill…she could die! _"Wake her up!" he shouted. Without thinking about it he leaned forward and gripped her upper arms, giving her a good shake.

Brielle blinked at the jostling and swung her eyes to Erik's, her hands coming up to tangle in his lapels. "Don't let go, Erik. Don't let go."

"I won't," he swore, the fear that something was terribly wrong with her choking him now.

Gasping for breath, Brielle slowly smiled up at him, some color returning to her cheeks. Relief flooded her face as her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted dead away into Erik's stunned embrace.


	24. A Vision's Truth

**Hey all! How is everyone enjoying summer so far? I sure have enjoyed my first week free of classes. HURRAY! Sorry this chapter took so long getting out to you guys but it has been so nice out this week I couldn't help but go and fool around rather than write. FORGIVE ME! Hehe.**

**Oh and thanks to all you wonderful reviewers! I couldn't believe it when Juliana said I had gotten over 200! WOW! Speaking of Juliana I am once again compelled to say how great she is. It is because of her quick editing skills that this chapter comes to you today!**

**Anyway I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Though I will warn you I was terribly evil with the cliff hanger at the end! **

Chapter 24: A Vision's Truth

Brielle became aware of her surroundings slowly. Sound, the first sense to return, assaulted her from all sides; the shrilling of songbirds outside the window accompanied the groaning of the bed beneath her as she shifted her weight. Odd, what was she doing in bed? Her eyes fluttered open at the thought as she raised a hand to press against the ache pounding just behind her right temple.

The sun streaming through her bedroom window highlighted the dark canopy hanging over the bed. She frowned up at the drapery through the web of her fingers. _What happened? _The last thing she remembered was finding her brother and Erik roughed up in the parlor.

When the mattress next to her buckled under someone's weight Brielle jerked to the side, startled. Strong but gentle hands pressed against her shoulders, keeping her from sitting up. She fought against the restraint until her brother's soothing voice reached her over the pressure beating inside her skull.

"Easy there, everything is fine. Don't sit up just yet."

Disorientated, Brielle turned her head towards the sound of his voice. Conner sat perched on the edge of the bed, the sunlight behind him setting his hair aflame about his face. His vivid emerald eyes were darkened with concern, despite the easy smile upon his face.

Slowly she became aware of the shadow hovering just over Conner's shoulder. Erik stood there tensely with his hands gripped behind his back, his full attention directed upon her face. "Are you alright Brielle?" he asked in a short, clipped tone as his jaw clenched after every word.

"What is the matter? You are both acting like someone has died," she stated, becoming concerned with the seriousness of their behavior.

Making a hasty shushing motion, Conner leaned in close. "Shh, don't mention dying! I don't think he can handle it."

"Wait a moment, you don't remember what happened?" Erik suddenly interjected, a spark of alarm sharpening his eyes as he shot a glare at Conner's back. "You said she would be perfectly fine!"

Turning upon the bed, Conner waved off Erik's anxious exclamation. "Who is the old woman now, eh? You worry worse than a mother hen!"

"I absolutely do not!"

"You do!"

Rolling her eyes, Brielle heaved a great sigh and slapped her hands against the bed linens, instantly distracting the men from their growing argument. "Excuse me, I believe I asked what is going on!"

Beginning to pace about the room, Erik jumped on the answer before Conner could even open his mouth. "You were fine and then you began to babble about God knows what before fainting dead away." Turning on his heel he threw his hands into the air, his actions indicating more than distress; the man was very nearly distraught.

Brielle felt the blood begin to drain from her face at the description of her actions. She hurriedly turned her eyes to her brother and reached out to grip his hand. "What did I say, Conner?"

The green-eyed man was quiet for a moment as he sent Erik a careful look. Then turning his attention back to his sister he sighed. "You said that it was dark and cold but that there was a light coming from above. You saw someone leaning down over the light. It also seemed like you couldn't breathe." He paused there and squeezed her hand. "Have you been having nightmares then?"

"Yes, all week," she replied, slowly sitting up, anger and frustration choking the breath from her lungs. "But I don't know what any of it means! Why do I see these things if I can't understand them!" she demanded desperately, gripping the bed linens tightly in her fists.

Sensing where her thoughts were heading, Conner leaned forward and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look him in the eye. "Bri, don't start that now."

Jerking away from her brother's grip Brielle pulled her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms about her legs. "Something bad is going to happen, Conner. And I cannot do anything about it."

"This isn't your fault, Bri! You are not responsible for saving everyone. You are not to blame if something happens, you don't cause these things."

"No, but isn't doing nothing to stop a tragedy nearly just as bad as causing it?" she shouted, wishing desperately that she had something to throw. Maybe if she broke something it would make her feel better.

Having stood by silently observing this odd exchange, Erik suddenly couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "What in the hell are you two talking about! I demand an explanation at once!" he bellowed at an uncharacteristically deafening level. The siblings stopped talking instantly and gaped at Erik as he stood, practically shaking with some unidentified emotion.

"Brielle tell me, are you ill? Is something wrong with you?" he asked, his voice quieting, his expression stricken.

Brielle slowly raised her chin from her knees, shock over Erik's odd behavior pulling her mouth open. She had never seen him so out of sorts before - his dark hair hung disheveled about his face, as if he had spent a great deal of time running his fingers through it, and even his clothing was in disarray. By now she had thought she was used to his odd mood swings, but this was something new. "No I am not ill Erik. I didn't mean to upset you." _It isn't fear is it? It couldn't be…he isn't afraid of anything. _

"I am not upset!"

A slow smile edged across her face at his fervid denial. Despite the stress of the situation, despite his obvious worry, she couldn't help but grin up at him. His unkempt state was simply too cute not to. "Alright, you aren't worried then."

He suddenly stopped pacing at her words, swinging his head around to glare furiously at her. "You can bet I am worried! Normal people don't just faint in the middle of the day for no reason. Now you will both tell me what is going on or so help me I'll throttle the both of you!"

Conner stood when Erik took a threatening step towards the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I won't have you taking that tone with Bri," he stately firmly, his brows drawing down into a frown. "She has enough to worry about without you adding to her cares."

"Come now Conner, you know he is just worried, so stop being so confrontational."

Relaxing slightly, the redhead turned back to his sister, a wry smile curling up one corner of his mouth. "That I know for sure, but what I cannot figure out is what exactly you are going to tell him."

Brielle's smile faltered as she flicked a glance Erik's way. The man stood tensed at the foot of the bed, every muscle in his body poised as he waited for her to speak. He didn't appear to be in the proper mood to hear the truth. _But then again, what man is ever prepared to hear that the normal appearing woman he has been associating with for the past two months is actually a crazy fortune teller? _

Slowly swinging her legs over the edge of the bed Brielle stood, unable to remain stationary any longer. Conner moved to assist her, but she waved him off. It had been years since she had told anyone outside the family her secret. John had not even known until after they were married. And now that the prospect of telling Erik loomed before her the anxiety began to grow, squeezing the air from her lungs.

Wringing her hands, Brielle shifted her weight off her injured foot as she stared intently at the floorboards, avoiding Erik's burning glare. "Well I suppose I do owe you an explanation of my actions," she began, just barely preventing herself from biting her lip.

"You are damn right you do!" came the furious response.

Brielle hesitated at that, a frown tightening her mouth. _I know he was worried about me but he sure is not making the situation any easier. _She took a deep breath to quell the panic burning up the back of her throat before continuing. "I am sorry if I don't make much sense, but you are making me very nervous. I don't like talking about all of this very often. People tend to treat me differently after they hear that I…well…that I…"

The words had positively frozen somewhere between her brain and her mouth. Brielle found herself working her lips like a netted fish as she struggled to finish her sentence. Telling the truth was proving harder than she had ever imagined. What would he say after she finished informing him that she often dreamed about disasters before they happened? Would it change their friendship? Would he think her mad? _I don't think I could stand it if he doesn't take this well. _

Erik slowly unwound his arms from across his chest as he watched her nerves become increasingly more apparent. The severe pull of his mouth softened as she continued to stumble. With a sigh Erik dropped his hands to his sides. "It was not my intention to make you nervous. You know that sometimes things just fall out of my mouth before I can stop them."

A smile eased the tension in her jaw as she glanced over at him. The gentleness in his tone did much to help her nerves, but her heart still refused to stop racing.

Understanding his sister's hesitation, Conner stepped forward and placed a hand upon her shoulder. "What Bri is trying to tell you is that she has a wee bit of fairy blood within her," he stated with a straight face even as his sister turned and punched him in the chest.

"What is this nonsense you are shoveling? Here I am trying to explain this as scientifically as possible and there you go talking about fairies!"

"You break my heart Bri! What honest Irishwoman can sniff at the mention of a fairy or two? You are lucky that the little people haven't come and put a hex on you!"

Raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, Brielle silently shook her head. "Erik, what I was trying to tell you is that sometimes I am able to guess what will happen before it does." Happy with her explanation, Brielle let out a pent-up breath and glanced Erik's way. She was slightly discouraged by the blank expression clouding his eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

"Bri, has the second sight," Conner interjected helpfully. "She can see something happen before it does."

Worry creased Brielle's brow as she waited for Erik's reaction. He hadn't immediately dismissed the idea - that was a good sign. But he wouldn't meet her eye and the heat had returned to his frown - that was bad.

"I am not in the mood for foolishness," he began with a growl. "If you don't feel the need to tell me what is going on, then just say so! Don't fabricate stories that are…"

"Unfortunately, Conner is telling the truth," Brielle affirmed slowly. "Obviously he was kidding about the fairy blood, but the rest is true. Since I was very young I have been able to predict certain events before they happen." Looking down at her clenched fists, Brielle purposely relaxed her grip.

Erik was quiet for a beat, his lips pursing in thought. "You are serious?"

"Yes."

At her quick answer the masked man withdrew further into his own thoughts. Brielle watched with a terrible fascination as his face shut down, becoming as smooth and hard to read as a weathered tombstone. A grave sense of dread rolled about in the bottom of her stomach. In a way, his silence was worse than open ridicule.

As the quiet stretched out, Brielle could almost taste the tension thrumming through the air. When Erik finally raised his head to look her in the eye she was sure her heart would burst clean out of her chest. How had she come to invest so much feeling in this one man? Why did so much seem to rely upon what he said now? _Please, Please…_

"Is that why you were at the Opera that night?" he asked with great hesitation, almost as if he were afraid to hear the answer. "You knew the chandelier would fall…that is why you came, isn't it?"

"I didn't specifically know about the chandelier, but I knew something terrible was going to happen. I had been having dreams all that week about the Opera house and a fire. Thinking back now it seems so obvious to me, but at the time I couldn't put two and two together. That is how it begins…I have dreams. Sometimes though, it happens during the day, like today. Those are always worse…I get headaches and this time I fainted." Brielle eased her injured foot up until her weight was concentrated upon the ball rather than the heel. Was it her imagination or was that guilt flickering across his face? What did he have to be guilty about?

Erik nodded, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he once again turned his gaze to the floor. "Aria, kept telling me you were a family of fortune tellers but I thought she was jesting," he said, a slight smile pulling up the corners of his mouth as he scratched thoughtfully at his chin.

"You are taking this news extremely well." Brielle stated suspiciously. She had come to realize Erik was a man of great passion; this quiet acquiescence on his part was disquieting. She had expected some sort of explosion. _It can't really be that easy._

"In my lifetime I have come to realize that not everything is as it seems," he said with a shrug.

Brielle frowned at the ambiguous statement. "Because of working behind the scenes at the Opera?"

The secrecy, which was so much a part of his persona, flared up and darkened his expression momentarily. "I suppose you could say that. Besides I haven't the right to judge anyone. If you say something is true then it must be. I would have thought that by now you would be able to trust me enough not to worry."

Unsure of how to proceed, Brielle began to spin her wedding ring furiously about her ring finger. All the pent-up anxiety thankfully began to dissipate, despite her lingering doubt. She couldn't have asked for a calmer reaction to her confession; it was actually a little disconcerting that he was being so understanding. But Brielle was smart enough to not look a gift horse in the mouth. Since he was offering understanding, she would accept it without question.

"In the future I will have to remember that," Brielle murmured with a slight chuckle. "But for now I suppose…"

The distant echo of a knock upon the door interrupted her mid-sentence. Brielle turned her gaze away from Erik to momentarily glance out her bedroom door. Without another word she released her wedding ring and began to hobble quickly across the room. By the time she had reached the door she was fuming.

"By God if it is those impossible policemen again I will take a hot iron to their backsides," she huffed, absolutely livid with the thought of Le Clarke's return. The headache pounding a beat in her skull added to the stress of the morning allotted no room for patience or understanding. She was out for blood.

As she staggered through the doorway and into the hall Conner called after her. "Hey, what policemen are you talking about!"

Ignoring her brother Brielle continued on, picking up her skirts to quicken her steps. She could hear both men quickly follow upon her heels, their heavier footsteps drowning out her own lighter tread. Passing the mahogany umbrella holder as she limped into the front hallway, Brielle paused and snatched a silver handled cane from its selection. Holding the cane in a white-knuckled grip, she brandished it with deadly intent as she reached out to open the door.

Conner's staying hand upon her shoulder stopped her from opening the door and cracking the unexpected visitor over the head. "Come now Bri, is that any way to welcome a guest at the door? Please allow me to handle the situation. Especially if it happens to be the police a-calling."

"Fine, do as you please. But it will be over my dead body that they walk through that door," she growled, before stepping back to allow Conner access to the door.

"My Lord," Conner exclaimed with a laugh. "You are sure in a mood today! Erik, I don't know how you have stood her company for so long!" he shouted over his shoulder to where Erik lingered in the hallway.

"It was a trial, I assure you," came the amused reply.

Nudging Brielle further out of the way with one foot, Conner bit his lip against the mirth shaking his body. "I knew there was a reason I liked you," he laughed, as he reached out and pulled the door open. One glance at the fashionably dressed man on the stoop and Conner's smile instantly disappeared.

Andrew fastidiously plucked a stray bit of lint off his sleeve as he glanced up at Conner. Though the young lord's expression remained polite, an edge of dislike sharpened the black pools of his eyes. "Good morning Conner, how wonderful it is to see you aga…"

Without a word, Conner slid his hand from the door handle and slapped it against the back of the door, slamming it in Andrew's face. Smile back in place, the redhead turned on his heel to address the room. "Is anyone hungry now? I know I sure could go for a nice plate of bacon and eggs."

"Conner!" Brielle exclaimed, horrified at her brother's actions. "What has gotten into you! You can't simply close the door in a man's face!"

A sliver of meanness cut into his normally easy smile. "If there were a man on the porch I would agree with you." A snort of agreement came from where Erik stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

Brielle looked at the ceiling to pray for patience before shooting both men a glare cold enough to kill off a wheat field in the dead of summer. She raised the cane in her hand and gave Conner a good whack on the backside. With a yelp the redhead scooted away from her, only to rally near where Erik leaned against the wall. Both men now wore identical rebellious scowls.

"Don't let that foppish bastard into the house Bri! You know what I think of the English and him in particular. At least when you married English, John didn't turn out to be an ass."

"Sweet Mary! This is his house, Conner! And I will not take part in your rudeness! I can't simply turn him away!"

Stirring himself, Erik opened his mouth to support Conner's crusade. "Sure you can. Just turn the lock and be rid of his unwanted presence."

Sighing, Brielle shook her head. "I had hoped, given my injury and the other stresses of the morning that you two would be more supportive. But I suppose that is too much to ask for!"

Brandishing her weapon, Brielle raised her snowy eyebrows at them. "Now if you two can't behave, then please remove yourselves from this part of the house."

Both men stood fuming in silence for several seconds before Conner turned on his heel and stormed off down the hallway. Now alone with Erik in the front hall Brielle set the cane against the wall. "Are you also angry with me for being the only polite person in this household?" she demanded, raising her chin in challenge as she glared over at him.

"No," he began, as he pushed off from the wall and dropped his arms to his sides. "But I cannot understand why you persist in fawning over _Lord_ Donovan. It is mystifying, really."

"Please Erik, why can't you understand? He makes me nervous enough on his own, but without your support it makes the situation ten times worse."

"Perhaps you simply ask for too much," he replied coolly, all worry and compassion from earlier in the day completely dissipated. Before Brielle could open her mouth to argue further, Erik turned and disappeared down the hall. She turned and put her hand upon the doorknob just as the sound of the back door slamming reached her ears.

Disappointment settled deep within her belly as she pulled the door open with a forced smile. "Hello Andrew. Do come in."

Removing his hat as he stepped through the door Andrew's gaze momentarily flickered about the front hall. "Was it my imagination or has your dear brother returned from England to visit for awhile?"

"Yes, he has returned," Brielle said as she relieved Andrew of his hat and coat, hanging the items upon a hook by the door.

"It must be difficult for him to find the time in his schedule to come and visit often. Does he plan to stay long?" he asked politely as he followed Brielle down the hall and into the library.

"Actually I haven't the faintest idea how long he will be staying." Brielle said with a laugh. When Andrew didn't join in with her laughter, she self-consciously cleared her throat.

"Hmm, it will be a pity if he must leave soon. I hate for you to be alone here."

Taking a seat near the window, Brielle was momentarily distracted from the conversation by the sight of Erik splitting firewood across the yard. Apparently he had chosen physical labor to work through his brooding mood. Turning her eyes back to the man sitting across from her she smiled.

"Oh, but I am not alone. You know that Erik is still here."

A flicker of dismayed surprise passed over Andrews features as he pulled his gloves from his hands one at a time. He twisted the leather slowly as his eyes narrowed in thought. "Oh, he is? Where is my mind? I must have forgotten."

"Did you have any reason to believe he would not be here?" she asked concerned.

Looking up at her with a sudden smile, the black eyed man shook his head reassuringly. "Of course not. I simply wasn't thinking."

Relieved that Andrew hadn't actually meant anything by his statement, Brielle leaned back in her chair. For a moment, the fear that Erik was planning on leaving without telling her had crept up her spine. But thankfully her apprehension swiftly settled back to acceptable levels. _What a silly thought. He wouldn't leave…_

Tapping a finger against the leather upholstery of her chair, Brielle once again glanced out the window. "How is your business in Paris, Andrew? I trust it is going well."

Brielle had fully intended to listen for Andrew's answer but she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the man out in the yard. At some point during the short time she had been conversing with Andrew, Erik had removed his jacket and hung it on the fence post.

She took a breath as she watched the axe blade come up and flash in the cool air. The blade came down swiftly efficiently snapping a piece of wood in half; she could almost feel the reverberation of the blow though she couldn't hear it. Even from her vantage point, the sweat soaking through Erik's white cotton shirt and misting his forehead was apparent. Biting her lip, Brielle turned her head from the window and from the sight of the working man outside.

Andrew, having not noticed her inattention, continued to highlight the details of his progress in Paris; apparently business was going well. "One thing I have learned in France is to keep a close eye on all levels of business. If you look away for one moment you can be sure someone is slacking off. However, I was surprised to find…"

Despite her best efforts, Brielle's mind and eyes wandered back to the window. There was something soothing about having Erik in sight, the smooth rise and fall of the axe flowed together with an almost dream-like quality. For some reason, her normal anxiety around Andrew was not present today.

Brielle sat up straighter when she saw Aria run across the yard toward Erik, without a coat, as usual. Winter had yet to fully give up its hold; the pond still lay smooth with ice and though the snow had melted leaving behind icy mud, the air still carried an arctic bite to it. Pursing her lips, Brielle frowned. _That girl is bound and determined to get herself sick. _

Clearing her throat, Brielle quickly stood, glad for the excuse to escape Andrew's endless conversation. "Forgive me, but I just noticed Aria outside without her jacket. It is still chilly enough for her to catch a cold. I'll just run out and make sure she puts something warm on. Stay here if you like, I'll return shortly."

Likewise standing, Andrew smoothed a hand over the lapels of his well-cut jacket. "I will accompany you then."

She was just able to hide the annoyance before it flooded her expression. "Alright then…"

With a sigh, Brielle turned and limped to the door. As she passed through the front hallway she pulled her own cloak over her shoulders and settled her shaded spectacles on her nose. Taking Aria's coat from its hook, she draped it over her arm and stepped into a pair of oversized galoshes. _I can't wait until summer when the mud will be all dried up. _

Picking up her skirts, Brielle headed out the door without waiting to see if Andrew followed. She slowly made her way through the mud, her boots sucking into the gunk with every step. Aria looked up then and spotted her mother heading toward the woodpile. The child pointed and said something to Erik. The man shouldered the axe and turned to follow Aria's gaze; a frown immediately darkened his face as he studied the approaching pair. Wiping a hand over his forehead, Erik set the axe down and folded his arms across his chest.

Brielle froze in mid-limp as she followed his movements. The sweat which had misted his skin caused his shirt to cling in exactly all the right places. Blood rushed into Brielle's cheeks as she found herself staring opening at the smooth planes and valleys of his upper torso. _God, you could wash clothes on that stomach!_ she thought, nudging her glasses down her nose for a better look.

Distantly she felt Andrew take hold of her elbow and ask her a question. Shaking her head clear, she tore her eyes away from Erik and turned her attention to the man at her side. "What?"

"Are you stuck? Shall I assist you?"

"Oh, no thank you," she said with a smile, pulling away from his grip and quickly sloshing through the muck once more.

Raising her hand to further shade her eyes, Brielle approached Erik and her daughter with skirts held high. "Aria, you know better than to play outside without a coat on."

The child smiled up at her mother with one of her butter-wouldn't-melt grins. When the white-haired woman didn't seem moved by Aria's tactics, the little girl nodded and stepped forward to allow her mother to put her jacket on. Buttoning the child up tight, Brielle finally smiled.

"There now. That is better isn't it? You can play all you like now," she said, sending the child off with a pat on the head. Now that Erik was no longer going to entertain her with the wood cutting, Aria ran off to chase after a squirrel near the pond.

Fisting her hands upon her hips as she watched her daughter racing across the yard, Brielle sighed. "I swear if that girl's head weren't attached to her, she would leave it behind."

Normally Erik would have laughed at such a statement, but this time he remained steely and silent. When Brielle glanced his way, she was annoyed to find the man glaring daggers at Andrew. Thankfully Andrew hadn't noticed the masked man's rudeness; he was too busy following Aria with narrowed eyes.

"Is it entirely proper for a young girl to be so wild? Shouldn't she be learning how to become a young lady?"

Before Brielle could open her mouth Erik jumped to answer. "A child should be allowed to do as she pleases for as long as possible. She will have to grow up soon enough. Who are you to try and cut her childhood off?"

The polite smile dropped off Andrew's face as he turned chilling eyes Erik's way. "And who are you to speak to me in such a tone? It wasn't so long ago that the punishment for such insolence was to be hanged."

"You forget where you are sir. This is France. Here we relieve cocky Lords of their heads!"

With a great sigh, Brielle clapped her hands to draw their attention. "Come now gentlemen! We all must strive to be civil. After all…" Pausing in mid sentence she glanced up at her daughter's delighted squealing. Aria had made her way out onto the pond and had just fallen upon her bottom.

"Aria you get off that ice now! You know better than to play on the pond without an adult to hold your hand. You'll crack your skull if you aren't careful. Come off there now!"

Stepping away from the two men, Brielle slowly made her way towards the pond when her daughter ignored her command. The fun of sliding about on the ice was apparently too much for the child's good senses. Behind her she could hear Andrew take another verbal shot at Erik. To his credit the masked man was attempting to control his temper; after all, he hadn't hit the young lord yet.

Her progress toward the pond suddenly halted when one boot became hopelessly mired in the mud. Brielle twisted her head round to call for assistance. "Would you two stop arguing please!" she shouted, pulling hopelessly at her stuck leg. "Erik, can you help me please?"

Eyeing Andrew with intense dislike for several tense moments, Erik finally turned that glare her way. "You shouldn't be out walking upon that foot anyway! You will pull all those stitches out!" he chided furiously.

Brielle wrinkled her nose at Erik as he started toward her, but she did not voice the retort rolling about the back of her throat. Instead she turned and commanded Aria to once more come off the ice. Andrew stood rigid by the wood pile, his dark eyes glittering angrily in the cool sunlight.

As Erik neared her, Brielle smiled sheepishly at him. "I have gotten myself stuck in this blasted mud."

"So it seems," he replied with a raised eyebrow.

"I could get out myself but that would mean that I…" A mysterious wave of panic clogged Brielle's throat, preventing her from finishing her thought. She raised a hand to press against the pounding of her heart as she tried to pinpoint the source of her sudden alarm. Little red flags were waving furiously in the back of her mind. _Odd, this only happens right before one of my dreams is about to come tru…_

Unbidden her own words came back to flicker through her thoughts. "_It is so cold…so dark…a light from above…can't breathe." _

She felt her eyes go wide with terror as those words came together into a picture within her head. Erik halted right in front of her, his brows drawing down to frown at her pale face. Gasping, she heard herself murmur hoarsely, "The ice…Aria get off the ice." Painfully gathering a great gulp of air, she screamed those words. "Aria, get off the ice now!"

The utter silence following her panicked words was deafening. Only one sound broke through the buzzing in her ears. A loud popping echoed about the barnyard as Brielle jerked her head about so quickly she was sure it would snap off. She opened her mouth to scream again, but an ominous groaning filled up the quiet before she could.

Time shivered to a halt in those next few moments. Brielle could see the smile on her daughters face slowly drop away as the child looked toward her feet, at the cracks forming there. She raised her hand with great difficultly, reaching out as if to grab the child from the ice and pull her to dry ground.

All too soon, time jerked back into motion. Brielle started when an ear-splitting crack boomed across the yard - shutting her eyes for a moment against the sound, she turned her head to the side. A garbled childish scream pierced the air for barely a second before cutting off too soon.

Brielle's eyes jerked open and scanned the now empty pond before her. Only a large black hole marked where her daughter had been standing moments ago. In that moment the world narrowed and disappeared into the darkness under the ice. Her heart stopped in her chest even as Brielle staggered forwards, both hands fisted before her mouth.

"ARIA!" she shrieked, but only her own echo answered her before being swallowed up by the chasm in the pond's ice.


	25. A Vision's Truth II

**Here you go guys. Sorry this update took so long. I am an evil person for leaving you with that cliffhanger. **

**Another big thanks to my beta Juliana!**

Chapter 25: A Vision's Truth II

"ARIA!" she shrieked, but only her own echo answered her before being swallowed up by the chasm in the pond's ice.

Without thought Brielle lurched forwards, stumbling as her feet came free of the oversized galoshes, leaving them standing upright in the middle of the yard. Running with only a pair of house slippers through the freezing mud, her skirts hiked over her knees, she could only scream her daughter's name over and over again, each cry more wretched and distraught than the last. The air burned Brielle's lungs with every gasped breath, her own panic searing a familiar trail of misery straight to her heart. As the adrenaline pumped through her blood, her legs stretched beyond their normal capacity, quickening her pace to frenetic speeds; she was across the yard and at the pond's edge before a coherent thought could form in her head._ This can't be happening. It is a dream. This can't be happening._

As Brielle slid unceremoniously down the embankment to the pond's edge, her mind flashed unbidden back to other losses, other deaths. The glitter of the ice stretching out before her dimmed as the image of her father gasping his last breath bullied its way into her thoughts.

She had watched him die, held his hand as his body went stiff and cold, felt helpless during the weeks of his illness. It had been amazing really - he was there one moment squeezing her hand and then gone the next. How was that possible? How was it possible for a life of such generosity and passion to end without lightning splitting the sky or the world coming to an end?

He had just faded away.

And at fifteen she had wanted to go with him. To fade away and leave the burning, mind-numbing pain which loomed over every day thereafter. People had reassured her that time could heal all wounds, that eventually she would _get over it_. But the sad truth, she had come to realize, is that grief is never forgotten or healed; it simply looses its virulence. The truth was that death is only painful for the living. It burrows deep into the heart, bruising and permanent.

Two years after she and Conner lost their father, Brielle had met the Donovan brothers. She had first been introduced to Andrew by chance. Conner, even at twenty, had made a name for himself as a violinist among Dublin's upper crust. It was at one of his performances that she had, literally, stumbled into Andrew. He had been polite despite her clumsiness, had invited her and Conner to a party he was throwing for his younger brother.

The Sinclairs had accepted the invitation, though Brielle detested large crowds. She went because somewhere in her heart she had felt it important. The party itself was painfully dull, too many stuffy British aristocrats had blathered on endlessly while Brielle had wished to escape their eyes. Stealing away from the crowd, she had found refuge out upon the terrace overlooking the garden. That was where she had found John. As it turned out, he was hiding from the Ton as well.

After that first encounter she knew she would marry him. Something about his quiet good humor, his shyness, stirred her broken heart. She had loved him for that, held him more dearly than taking her next breath. John had brought her out of the shadow of her father's tombstone, taught her to live again.

And then he had died. Shot through the head, far from home and far from her. She had felt his death cut through her even before the Army had sent an official death notice. When John died, she died with him.

But unlike when her father had left her, John left something behind to assuage the blinding sorrow. He gave her life, he gave her Aria. And now faced with the prospect of loosing another loved one to Death's insatiable appetite, Brielle's heart rebelled, refusing to feel that soul shattering pain again.

She struggled to right herself as she took her first unsteady steps out onto the ice. The soft felt soles of her house slippers offered no traction as she half-slid, half-ran across the ice, her arms cartwheeling over her head. All memories, all thoughts vacated her head save for one mantra repeating over and over. _Come up, love. Come back up. Take a breath. Come up, love. _

As if prompted to action by the force of Brielle's thoughts, Aria broke through the surface of the water, her tiny hands grappling for the edge of the ice. Only seconds had passed since the child fell through the ice but in her mother's heart a lifetime had passed in each heartbeat. Aria clung to the ice, trying desperately to stay above water, as her hands slid over its surface and her small body shook violently from the breathtaking cold.

Picking up her pace Brielle barreled forward, hope driving her now rather than despair. "Aria! Hold on! Don't move I'll be right there!"

Though the child couldn't form a coherent affirmative through her chattering teeth Aria managed a slight nod to show she had heard. Without slowing, Brielle slid awkwardly closer to where her daughter clung to the ice, her feet constantly threatening to slide out from under her with every step. As she quickly drew close to the middle of the pond, the ice beneath her feet began to groan ominously. Glancing down, Brielle slowed her pace, momentarily considering the lacework of spider web cracks radiating from the hole.

Still more than five feet from Aria, Brielle carefully tiptoed her way forward, straining to hear even the slightest warning from below. Distantly she heard her name being called, but ignored the shouts and took another step. With a snap, her leading foot broke through the weakened surface, plunging into the freezing water below all the way up to her hip. Falling forward she hit the ground hard, knocking the breath right out of her lungs, locks of her hair falling free to spread out across the ice about her head. Fighting to pull air into her lungs Brielle lifted her face her eyes, meeting Aria's across the few feet of ice still lying between them. Wincing against the needling pain shooting up her leg she stretched out a hand, desperately hoping she would be able to reach her daughter.

"Try to take my hand, love!" Brielle cried out straining every muscle in her body, willing her arm to stretch just a little further.

Aria, her face ashen under a mop of wet hair, raised one arm from her grip upon the edge and waved it wildly toward her mother, kicking her feet frantically trying to boost her tiny body further out of the water. Nodding encouragement Brielle edged forward, ignoring the pain of the ice scraping along her thigh.

"Just a little further," she mumbled through trembling lips as her fingers nearly brushed those of her daughter's. Fear and hope warred within her chest, cutting off her air, as she was just able to touch a fingertip to Aria's bone cold digits. _Just a little farther…_she chanted mentally even as the ice under her body gave a terrible lurch. _A little farther…a little farther. _

Suddenly, through the tunnel vision of her concentration, Brielle felt a jerk on the hem of her skirt. Her body pivoted away from Aria when the grip upon her clothing gave another sharp pull, grappling for one of her hands. Screaming in protest she kicked out at the hands now tugging at her sleeve. The ice gave sharp squeal as her weight was spun away from the weakened section.

"NOO! I almost had her. Let me go!" she shrieked, clawing at the ice with her nails, desperately trying to stop her backward movement.

The hands at her ankle unexpectedly released her, only to grapple for the collar of her cloak. As the material pulled tight Brielle's screams gurgled to a stop, the clasp at her throat cutting off her air. Fighting frantically now, Brielle beat at the strong grip at the nape of her neck. Impervious to her attacks the hands pulled her violently backwards, freeing her caught leg from the ice and sliding her steadily away from where her little girl still clung in the middle of the pond.

"Stop fighting, Brielle!" came a grunted demand as one of her flailing hands raked fiercely across bare skin.

Andrew continued to pull her backward, his costly leather shoes skidding over the ice, nearly sending his legs out from under him. "The ice is too unstable. If you had stayed any longer we would have to save you too!"

In her panicked state Brielle hardly heard a word he was saying, her eyes staying riveted upon Aria despite her wild fighting. The child had stopped kicking her legs, now merely hanging limply upon the lip of the ice hole, her large gray eyes slowly closing with exhaustion. Precious moments had passed since Aria had been plunged into the freezing water. Brielle knew, despite her near delirium, that soon her baby wouldn't be able to hold on any longer and would slip back into the darkness of the pond water. Seeing her daughter's growing weakness, Brielle ignored Andrew's reasoning and fought twice as hard against his hold. _I have to get to her…she can't die…if she does I'll have nothing…nothing._

Screaming till her throat burned, Brielle banged her heels against the ice, grappling vainly to free herself. When Andrew suddenly let her go she fell flat onto her back, knocking her head against the toe of one of his shoes. Before she could scramble to her knees the young lord bent down and easily hauled her to her feet, his hands gripping her upper arms with bruising force. He gave her a good shake, but when she once again fought against his hold he coolly drew back a hand and brought it smartly across her cheek. Raising a hand to cradle her smarting jaw Brielle stilled, shocked tears springing into her eyes.

"I won't have you doing something foolish like risking your life when it isn't necessary," he began, his dark eyes pulling in the spring light, and reflecting her own panicked image back at her.

Closing her shocked mouth into a fierce line, Brielle removed her hand from her cheek only to raise it and slam it over Andrew's jaw. The man blinked in astonishment as she screamed in his face. "You don't understand - there isn't time!"

Coming back to himself he shook her again, the pulse at his temple beating furiously. "We must simply fetch a rope and everyone will be safe. If anyone goes back out onto that ice, it will only give way."

Brielle turned her face from Andrew, unwilling or unable to listen to the logical calm in his tone. Her eyes falling upon Erik's form a short distance away. The dark-haired man stood poised on the brink of motion, every muscle in his body thrumming with a tension she could almost taste in the air. His full attention was focused upon Aria as she struggled to keep her head above water.

Slowly Erik swung his gaze toward Brielle, she was shocked to see the same stark terror in his over bright blue eyes that she felt in her own heart. As the man clenched his jaw tightly against the waves of panic his face drained of all color. Becoming even more agitated after assessing her emotional state Erik took a step forward onto the ice, but then hesitated, as if warring with himself upon his next course of action.

Unable to stand the feeling of helplessness rising to burn tears behind her eyes, Brielle pulled against Andrew's hold. As she did so she tilted her head back to catch a glimpse of Aria. The sight of the child slumping lower and lower into the deadly cold sent new waves of horror shooting through her blood, nearly sending her into a dead faint with the intensity of the emotion.

"Somebody do something!" she screamed, beating against Andrew's vise-like grasp.

At her words Erik visibly jumped, his eyes shooting furiously between Aria and Brielle. When the child slipped and fell sputtering back under the water's surface the masked man sprung into action.

His long, lean legs blurred as Erik raced across the ice, the strong working boots he wore preventing the sliding which had slowed both Brielle and Andrew's movements. Reaching where Aria had disappeared in mere seconds he fell quickly to his knees, then to his stomach, spreading out his weight as he inched his way forward. Brielle held her breath as she watched him slowly progress until his hand snaked out over the water, grabbing hold of her daughter's flailing arm and pulling her back above the surface.

Relief so strong it buckled her knees immediately rushed through her as she raised a hand to her mouth in order to muffle a strangled sob. Falling to the ground despite Andrew's support, Brielle splayed her fingers over the ice, trying to shrug off Andrew's hands as he squatted down and wrapped an arm about her waist.

"Don't let go Erik! Don't let go!" she cried out, biting her bottom lip as she watched the man slowly pull the child from the dark water. _Like he would_, a little voice chided in the back of her head.

Nervously clenching her hands upon the ice, Brielle ignored the fact that she could no longer feel her fingers. Every cell in her body, every ounce of her strength was all fixed upon the two people on the ice. Painstakingly, Erik inched a near unconscious Aria out of the water, the child no longer able to assist in her own rescue, her body temperature having dropped so low that she no longer continued to shiver.

Brielle nearly came out of her skin when one of Erik's hands, which he had been bracing against the edge of the hole, broke a large chunk of the ice off and splashed into the freezing water. The dark haired man stilled for a moment and attempted to ease back only to dislodge another chunk of ice. Several colorful curses flitted over the ice as he shook his now soaked arm trying to dry it as much as possible.

"Be careful!" Brielle called out, her words of warning earning another string of swearing from the man on the ice.

Erik managed to drag Aria completely from the water and slide her up alongside himself. Turning carefully, pushing the child's limp form before him, he was able to make an about face until his head was facing Brielle and Andrew. Raising his chin from the surface of the ice, Erik glanced up to meet Brielle's anxious eyes, and damned if he didn't wink at her before giving Aria another shove toward the shore.

Shaking her head at the man's cavalier display, Brielle was just beginning to relax slightly when the ice near Erik's feet caved in, sending the lower half of his body sliding into the water. A pained expression twisted his mouth into a grimace as he struggled to pull his legs from the biting water. With a gasp Brielle jumped to her feet dragging Andrew up with her. Feeling dizzy with dread as she took a step forward, she nearly toppling over when her numb legs wouldn't hold her. Andrew's arm around her hips tightened then stopping her progress.

Turning in his grasp Brielle punched the man in his chest. "Andrew, do something we have to help him."

"This is exactly what I was talking about," the young lord mumbled in response, apparently missing the seriousness of the situation as he coolly watched Erik struggle out on the ice.

With a groan the ice once again slid out from where Erik laid, half on the ice and half off. Yelping, the masked man plunged completely into the water, disappearing from view for a moment only to resurface almost immediately. He trod water, sputtering, before hooking an arm over the hole's edge, his other hand coming up to clamp over his face as the bindings holding his mask began to loosen. Aria, having found the strength to sit up slowly, leaned over and grabbed weakly onto Erik's hand, a pitiful wail issuing from her chattering mouth.

Another kind of panic began burning to life inside Brielle's heart at that moment. Erik was a close friend, but what she was feeling at that moment was far more than worry for a friend. She was stricken, almost paralyzed with concern. _It is almost as if…_

The sound of a pair of boots pounding across the yard startled her from the daze she was in. Turning Brielle laughed hysterically when her eyes caught the sight of her brother running towards them.

"What are you two standing about for?" the redhead asked furiously as he blew past both her and Andrew, working a length of rope in his hands.

"Conner, Aria fell through the ice and when Erik tried to get her out, he…"

"I know!" came a quick reply as Conner twisted the rope quickly into a clever lasso. "I saw from the window. It took me forever to find the right kind of rope in that damned barn!"

"Hurry! Stop talking and do something!"

With an easy movement Conner swung the rope up over his head, his green eyes focused upon the two people out in the middle of the pond. Before Conner could release the rope, Erik gave Aria another shove, sending her small body sliding away from him over the ice.

"Take her first!" he shouted through chattering teeth as his body began to jerk violently from the life-sapping chill in the water.

Nodding his head, Conner turned his attention to his niece and let the lasso fly. The loop landed over the little girl's waving arms and with a quick jerk the redhead tightened it around her small wrists, pulling her to shore. Limping forward as quickly as she could, Brielle fell to her knees and gathered her little girl up in her arms, smothering Aria with hysterical kisses even as she turned her eyes back to the man struggling in the water. _Thank God…Thank God!_

Struggling to undo the rope from Aria whilst she was cradled in her mother's arms, Conner finally resorted to giving Brielle's nose a good tweaking to still her movements. Shocked by his odd action, Brielle paused and glanced up at him; in that moment her brother quickly undid the rope and straightened.

"Conner, you'd better get that blessed man out of that water," she stated, crushing her daughter protectively to her chest.

"I was planning on it, you daft thing," he replied, swinging the rope up over his head once more. Watching carefully he waited for the opportune time to let the loop fly. "Andrew do something useful and go get a doctor," he hissed, without taking his eyes off his target.

"Excuse me, but you do not order me ab…"

"No you are right, there is no excuse for you," he shot right back. "Erik, put one of your arms up!"

Hesitating, Erik's eyes flickered to where Brielle knelt near the shore. After several seconds he slowly dropped his hand from his face and struggling to obey the Conner's barked order he raised his stiff arm over his head, trying at the same time to keep his head above the water. Without hesitation Conner released the rope, the lasso smoothly falling over the other man's arm.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Andrew asked with confusion as he watched Conner give the rope a good jerk, tightening the rope about Erik's wrist.

"A rather unscrupulous Texan fellow taught me this trick," the redhead replied, a nasty grin flashing over his face as he momentarily glanced Andrew's way before beginning to pull upon the rope. "Though, technically it wasn't meant to wrap a rope about a person."

Frowning Andrew pursed his lips. "What is it meant to…"

"Oh, you know, pigs, cows…anything dirty with four legs," Conner said as he heaved against the rope. "Though I have heard they also use it to round up useless bastards before stringing them up by their…"

Not liking where that conversation was heading, Brielle interrupted. "Andrew will you please go get a doctor?"

Looking between the siblings, first at Brielle's shaky smile then Conner's belligerent sneer, Andrew nodded slightly. "Of course I will," he said as he turned and jogged off to retrieve his horse.

As soon as he was out of earshot Conner looked to his sister with a confused smile. "Whatever are YOU asking him to get a doctor for? I only asked to get rid of him."

Ignoring his question Brielle remained still, watching as Erik was pulled to shore over the ice. When the masked man came within a few feet of her Brielle - her daughter still clutched in her arms - moved forward, carefully sliding over to where he laid dripping. As she neared, Erik hastily raised a shaking hand to press against his face, his mask having nearly slid off his head. Noting this with sadness Brielle slowly knelt at his side, placing a hand on the man's chest and drawing his eyes to her face.

Though Erik lay there shaking like an oak leaf in a storm, he still managed to form a fierce disapproving frown. "What is wrong with you, get her inside."

"He is right," Conner said, coming up behind his sister. "It is alright. I'll take her in."

She kissed Aria on the forehead before carefully handing her over to Conner. For a moment Brielle watched her brother as he hurried over the yard and into the house before she turned her attention back to Erik. Suddenly finding herself unable to hold back the torrent of relieved tears in the face of the gruff tenderness softening his eyes, Brielle finally burst into hysterical sobs. Even as the tears burned hotly down her frozen cheeks, she began to laugh at the man glaring up at her.

"You could have died, you crazy man…thank you. I'll never be able to repay you for today…"

Erik managed to shake his head slightly at that, averting his eyes from her face. "No, it is I who owe you…for more than you know."

Leaning forward, Brielle brushed a hand over the side of his wet cheek, smoothing out the frown wrinkling the skin there. When he turned the right side of his head toward the ground, trying to further hide what his slipping mask wasn't, Brielle looked away momentarily with a sigh. Turning her eyes upon him once more she carefully took hold of his chin, forcing his face around till he looked her in the eye. His one hand still remained firmly cradling his mask.

"Stop that, now. Do you honestly think I would care if that fell off right now? You saved my daughter, idiot."

"If you knew what I looked like you wouldn't say that," he snapped, agitated by her steady glare. "It is true. In fact you would most likely run off to…"

Brielle hurriedly clamped a hand over his mouth, not wanting him to pick a fight when she had hardly thanked him for his heroism. "You really are stupid sometimes Erik," she said.

Closing her eyes, she silently prayed for courage before brushing her lips over his. The electric shock that sent shivers racing down her spine was instantaneous. Erik stiffened when her mouth touched his as he had the time she had kissed him before. His hesitation was endearing, though she knew his awkwardness stemmed from years of neglect as a child. _It makes me want to kiss away all those years, until he no longer jumps when I touch him. _

"Thank you…" she mumbled against his mouth as she opened her eyes and pulled back slightly, her previous thoughts wrinkling her brow with worry.

"Any time…" he replied, his voice shaking as he desperately tried to appear casual with her face so close to his own.

"But next time don't cut it so close. You made me worry terribly."

Guilt immediately darkened his gaze. "I know, I should have acted sooner. By the time I got around to it she had been in the water for…"

Placing a hand over his mouth she stilled his words. "No, I meant you made me worry about you as well. When you fell I think my heart stopped for the second time today."

Shock flickered over his face before a slow smile brought out the handsome lines about his eyes. Brielle hadn't known until that moment how fond she was of his laugh lines.

"You were worried…about me?" he asked quietly, his eyes flickering shut in exhaustion.

"Of course, you daft man," she replied, a strange warmth beginning to infuse her entire body as she looked down at his worn and weary appearance.

It felt natural, this new lurching within her heart and for several moments Brielle basked its glow, savoring the inner calm now filling her soul. But as Brielle wiped at the water beading upon his forehead, as she listened to her brother's approaching footsteps, a terrible realization burst to the forefront of her thoughts. She recognized without a doubt what this new heavenly sensation toward Erik was and suddenly a bleak horror filled her.

It was love.


	26. A Heart's Desire

**Hello everyone! Here is the next chapter for your enjoyment! Thanks to everyone for your lovely reviews. It makes me happy to know my story is being received so well. **

**Oh and by the way with the new hit counters we get for our chapters I know exactly how many of you aren't reviewing as well. Shame, shame! Just kidding. **

**And once again a huge thanks to my beta Juliana, she is wonderful!**

**P.S. Happy Fourth of July to all my American readers!**

Chapter 26: A Heart's Desire

Erik huddled pitifully under a mountain of blankets as chills wracked his body. It had been hours since Conner had pulled him from the water and yet he couldn't seem to stop shaking. He was a man who thrived on power and the fact that he had absolutely no control over his own body was infuriating. Not that Brielle and Conner hadn't been taking care of both him and Aria - in fact, they had been scrambling to fight off the chills which now seemed to be soaking into his bones.

He hadn't even stumbled through the front door, with Brielle's support, before the damned woman had begun relieving him of nearly every stitch of clothing. At the time he had been too weak to protest her rough ministrations, but thinking back upon it now made his face burn with humiliation. Logically, he understood that it had been necessary to get the wet clothing off as fast as possible, but something about being undressed with Brielle in the room, with those beguiling eyes moving over his skin, sent a shiver down his spine that was altogether different from those he was experiencing now. How he hated himself for allowing his baser instincts such leeway, for thinking such things about a woman who had shown him nothing but kindness.

Worse yet, Erik was certain Brielle was now pointedly avoiding him. Of course, she had seen to his comfort by dragging in dozens of extra blankets and stuffing the bed full of hot water bottles, but with her medicinal duties done she had hastily taken her leave of him. At first he had simply assumed that she was off seeing to her daughter, but as time passed, he had become increasingly aware of her rather odd behavior.

It had started out very subtly; she had only come into the room if Conner was already there, only to leave as soon as she found herself alone with Erik. This alone wouldn't have raised his suspicion - after all there were two patients needing attention - but the way she reacted to him directly did. Every time he spoke to her, trying to tease a smile to her mouth, Brielle only started and stared at him, unblinking, like a doe caught in a hunter's sights, her eyes lamp-like and over bright in her pale face.

Something had changed. Gone was her natural ease and good humor. It was replaced with an unexplainable wariness, as if she were afraid of saying something to him she would later regret. Brielle's silence was damning, and though her behavior was altogether mystifying, Erik knew that she must be angry with him, and he knew exactly why. He couldn't blame her, she had a right to be furious with him; he was furious with himself for what he had done.

When Aria had fallen through the ice he had hesitated, stood frozen at the edge of the pond. _What is wrong with me!_ he thought with a moan, turning his face into his pillow out of frustration. _I am a coward - that is what is wrong!_

No wonder Brielle was angry, she had finally figured out what he really was - a self-serving, hypocritical bastard. Real people, good people, like Brielle, jumped into action without thought when their loved ones were in danger. Only monsters stood on the bank watching a little girl drown while the voice inside their head cautioned them to stay back, not to risk it.

Clenching his fist and driving it into the mattress next to his head, Erik mumbled several brutal profanities, berating himself and his traitorous heart. The click of the door opening sounded overly loud in the quiet of the room, causing Erik to still and raise his eyes from the pillow, searching for the intruder. Brielle's delicate hand appeared upon the door, her wedding ring glittering faintly, as she cautiously entered the room, a steaming kettle held carefully in her right hand.

She hesitated ever so slightly when she noticed his gaze upon her. "Oh, still awake I see. If you are tired, which I imagine you must be, it is safe for you to go to sleep now. Your temperature has increased out of the danger zone."

"You say that, but I still feel cold," he growled through chattering teeth, unintentionally sharpening his tone, reflecting his internal conflicts.

Taking that as an indication that he needed something, Brielle stepped into the room, easing the door shut behind her. "You feel cold because in trauma involving winter weather, blood in the limbs drops to a lower temperature than the torso. By now the cooler blood has been pumped back into your major systems. That is why you are still shivering; your body is trying to warm everything back up."

Setting the kettle onto a marble topped side table, Brielle worried her bottom lip between her teeth, a clear indication of discomfort. "Actually, that is the reason most people die when being exposed to the elements. The mixing of the blood causes too much of a drop in temperature for the body to recover. If either of you had stayed in the water any longer…" The cool, analytical tone Brielle had slipped into suddenly broke and she raised a fist to cover her mouth, her eyes darkening with barely controlled horror at what might have been.

Turning her face from his view, she took several slow, steadying breaths before moving back to the table picking up the kettle once more. "I made some tea if you would care for any." There was a pause as she suddenly frowned about the room. "Sweet Mary, I didn't bring a cup. Where is my head? I'll go get one." Brielle said as she hastily headed for the door.

Struggling to sit up despite the tremors weakening his arms, Erik called out to her. "Wait a moment, I have something I need to say. Please don't go."

When the white-haired woman stopped at the door and turned back to look at him over her shoulder he continued. "You have been acting very strangely and I think I know why."

Erik's words had a most startling and unexpected effect upon Brielle. Her pretty mouth dropped open as the little color remaining in her face drained away, leaving her deathly pale. Setting the kettle down again with a clatter the woman stared over at him, horrified, as if he had suddenly sprouted horns.

"You do?" she breathed.

Unable to meet her gaze any longer Erik looked away; he didn't know if he could handle seeing the accusation creep into those eyes as he explained the reasoning behind his earlier actions. "Yes, and I can't blame you."

Though he wasn't looking at her, Erik could feel a slight shift in the air as the mood of the room changed. "You can't _blame_ me?" she asked carefully, a sharp edge sneaking into her tone.

"No, you have a right to be angry," he replied quickly. "I am just as furious with myself."

When Brielle remained quiet, Erik braved a glance her way. But instead of finding the woman in a state of anger, she seemed to be rather confounded by his statement.

"Wait, what are you talking about?" she finally asked, a funny little worry line appearing between her snowy brows.

"The reason why you have been acting so strangely. It is because you are angry with me," he supplied before clenching his jaw, trying to muffle the clattering of his teeth. "Why? What did you think we were talking about?"

Quickly shaking her head and waving off his question, Brielle gave a nervous smile. "Oh nothing," she said with a shrug as she walked to the edge of the bed, pulling upon the down comforter to straighten out the wrinkles. "What else was it you said?"

"I know why you are angry with me."

Glancing up from where she was tucking the blankets about his feet Brielle cocked her head slightly to the side, a quizzical expression raising her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"You are going to make me confess it all aren't you?" he demanded furiously. "Fine! It is about time you know who I really am!"

Coming around the corner of the bed to stand next to him, Brielle folded her arms over her chest. "Erik, are you feeling alright? Whatever are you blabbering about?"

"You have been avoiding me from the moment we stepped into the house because you are angry I didn't act sooner. I should have run out there immediately, like you did, but I stood on the bank and did nothing."

Staring at him with her mouth hanging open, Brielle stood in shocked silence for several moments. Shaking herself out of the confusion clouding her eyes, Brielle turned and drew a nearby wingback chair up to the edge of the bed. Taking a seat, she leaned forward and placed a hand over his on the mattress.

"Erik I am not angry with you."

Jerking his hand out from under hers Erik drew the blankets further up under his chin, guarding himself from her soft eyes. "You should be!" he accused. "You should be enraged that you have been so kind to me for so long and when the time came for me to take action on this family's behalf I failed."

"What are you talking about! You didn't fail. You saved Aria's life. She is resting in the next room because of you instead of being prepared for burial. How could I be angry with you Erik? You saved my life when you pulled her from the water."

Turning his head to stare her in the face, Erik let his eyes burn with the self loathing he felt rolling, slick like oil, about his stomach. "I wouldn't have, though. At first I was glad you went out onto the ice so I wouldn't have to. So I wouldn't have to risk my own neck to save another."

"Erik stop this…" Brielle began, her eyes imploring him to cease the horrific news he was now set upon telling her.

"No, you need to hear this. I can't deceive you any longer."

Sitting back in her chair, wrapping her arms protectively about her waist, Brielle eyed him warily as he continued. "All my life I have lived for no one but myself. I learned very early on that others cannot be relied upon for anything, not family, not loved ones, no one. Based upon that truth, I only ever considered people according to what they might do for me."

He paused there, daring her to say one word, secretly hoping that those wonderful misty gray eyes wouldn't turn away with disgust. "Even when I came to care for someone it was only because of what she could do for my music at first. So it came as no surprise when that is how I considered you, how you could further my own gains. What was a surprise was how, as time passed, I began to see this family as people rather than means to an end. That had rarely ever happened before."

When Brielle opened her mouth to interrupt, he waved her off. "But even despite that, when Aria was in danger I found that damned voice in the back of my head telling me to hold back, let someone else handle the situation. And despite your kindness I was still ensuring my own safety over all others. That is the difference between you and me. You constantly think of others while I constantly think of myself." Raising a hand to swipe at his aching eyes, Erik stopped for a moment.

"I shouldn't have held back. I should have run out there straight away," he growled.

With a sigh Brielle sat forward again, the chair creaking in protest at her movement. Erik winced as he waited for her reply, knowing deep in his heart that this was the end of their friendship, that perhaps she would even ask him to leave. It made him sick inside.

"Hard lives create hard people," she murmured, her gaze pained as she continued to meet his eyes steadily, "and your life must have been terribly difficult."

When she didn't continue, Erik could only stare at her in shock. Where was the condemnation he had been so sure would be lurking in her tone? "What is wrong with you? I just told you that…"

"What? That you are human? That you feel guilty because you weren't the first to run out onto the ice? You are trying to convince me that you are a terrible person, but I just cannot believe it of you. Perhaps in the past those things might have been true. Perhaps you were that man you have described because you had to be in order to stay alive. But I have come to know someone completely different."

"Brielle…"

"No, you listen to me now," she ordered sharply. "When Conner came with the rope you called out to him to take Aria before yourself. When you fell through the ice, instead of pulling yourself out you focused on pushing my daughter further from the edge. How can a bad man do these good things? Now perhaps you have had some conflicting thoughts. Perhaps a little part of who you were came through. But I will not condemn someone just because of what they think. It is a man's actions which define him. Can you not see the goodness of your own actions when they are so clear to others?"

Sitting up straight then, Brielle smoothed her hands over her skirts. Taking a deep breath, she gazed about the room for several moments before returning her eyes to him. "It concerns me that you seem to have developed the odd misconception that I am somehow a better person than you are."

"What misconception? Facts are facts. I…"

"When I was ten years old, my father was stationed in India. Two years after we moved there the revolution began." Brielle stated in a cool collected tone as she interrupted him. "I saw hundreds of men die in all manner of ways. Dysentery took dozens a day. Artillery tore off hands, legs, faces. And yet, despite the horrors of war and my young age I never shed a single tear for any of those men."

Shrugging slightly, she picked at a piece of lint on her skirt. "I couldn't weep for those poor boys. What sort of person does that make me?"

"You were young…and that is hardly the same thing."

"That doesn't matter. The point is that no one is perfect. Everyone has something they are not proud of in their past. And everyone has something they are born with to correct any mistakes they may make, a genius unseen by those who possess it but so very clear to the eyes of others. You are simply having trouble accepting the witness of those who have seen yours." She gave a lopsided smile then and leaned forward to tuck the blankets more tightly about him. "Would you like me to go get more blankets?"

"No, you blasted woman," he grumped.

"Well I am glad to see you are in a better mood now," Brielle huffed haughtily, poking him sharply in the arm. "If you are going to continue acting like a brute, I will simply leave." Standing, she took a step toward the door, stopping suddenly with a wince. Hopping back to the chair she fell into its seat, pulling her foot up to take a better look at the bottom.

"I pulled out every one of those damned stitches earlier. Didn't even feel it until I got back into the house. Ruined my favorite pair of house slippers, they were full of blood," she sighed slowly pulling of her shoe and stocking to gaze darkly at the sole of her foot.

"What is the matter with you? Running around the house like a chicken with its head chopped off when you have an injury. Why didn't you let the doctor that Andrew fetched take care of you?" Erik inquired.

Her expression souring quickly Brielle blew at her stinging foot, cradling it protectively in both hands. "I would have been happy to have the good doctor stitch my blasted foot. But unfortunately, due to extenuating circumstances, he was forced to leave in haste."

"Why did he leave? I never even caught a glimpse of him."

Raising her eyes from her injuries Brielle flashed a wolfish snarl, her straight pearly teeth glittering in the afternoon sunlight. "Well I believe he found it rather difficult to stay with my boot in his behind."

"Excuse me?"

"As soon as he offered to bleed Aria to prevent the development of a fever, I threw him out of the house," she stated simply. "I never really had any need for the man anyway."

Despite how rotten Erik felt physically, he couldn't help but smile at this woman's audacity. Her actions never ceased to surprise him. "Oh, and what did Andrew say about you tossing out his chosen physician? The man actually ran to retrieve his horse. I didn't know English lords were capable of running."

Lowering her foot, Brielle sat up straight and for the first time since the accident on the ice she smiled at him. Color returned to her cheeks as she chuckled quietly, her stance relaxing, and her natural ease returning. Whatever had been plaguing her over the last few hours, driving her to avoid his company and act like a stranger had apparently passed. She was herself again, and a deep pent-up anxiety Erik hadn't fully been aware of slowly eased from his heart.

All of a sudden, with Brielle smiling at him like that, Erik didn't feel so terrible. Perhaps it was his imagination or perhaps it was the warmth of her expression, but he didn't feel as cold anymore. Odd that one woman's smile could have such an effect upon him.

"You sound more like an Irishman every day with the way you talk about English lords," she laughed while tucking several wayward strands of hair back up into the bun on top of her head. Sobering slightly she sighed and looked out the window. "You truly dislike Andrew a great deal."

Considering her ambivalent statement to be a question, Erik took it upon himself to answer her as truthfully as he dared. "For being a woman who can peer into the future you certainly are shortsighted when it comes to reading people. Dislike would be a pale expression of the depths of the hatred I feel toward that man."

Making an irritated sound deep in her throat, Brielle began to tap out a rhythm with her finger nails upon the chair arm. "I suppose I should not ask why."

Turning onto his side so he wouldn't have to crane his neck to look at her, Erik settled deeper into his pillow. With the shivering having lessened over the course of their conversation, he was now feeling slightly groggy. The suggestion Brielle had made earlier that he get some rest didn't sound all that bad now.

"No, you shouldn't ask why, because then I would have to tell you the truth, which is that he is an arrogant, egotistical, selfish moron."

"I seem to remember you describing yourself with almost those exact words not half an hour ago," the blasted woman pointed out, a smug knowing edge sneaking into her smile. Erik hated it when she was right.

His hackles rising instinctively, Erik tensed under the covers. "You aren't suggesting that I somehow share characteristics with the man?"

Shaking her head soothingly Brielle leaned forward and rubbed a hand over his one exposed arm. "Of course not. You are complete polar opposites of one another." Giving his elbow a gentle squeeze, an oddly soft expression flickered behind her eyes. "You are rash, emotional, hot-headed, opinionated…" she stated ticking off each attribute upon a finger.

With each word his temper inflated just a little more until he was about to explode. _How dare she insult me in comparison to that ass! _Opening his mouth to fire off a retort, Erik was interrupted as she bullied her way to finish her sentence.

"All of which I hold terribly dear." Dropping her hand from his skin, Brielle's gaze flared with an unusual brightness as she focused upon the pillow, avoiding his confused glare. "I would gladly trade in one hundred Andrews if only to gain one Erik," she murmured.

Not certain he had heard her correctly, Erik could only stare, blinking over at her in silence. The poor woman suddenly looked as surprised as he felt, but before he could overcome his shock Brielle quickly climbed to her feet, wincing when she bumped her injured foot.

Laughing nervously she took a hobbling step to the side. "Oh my, where is my head? I was going to get you a cup for the tea ages ago and it completely slipped my mind. I should go do that…the tea that is." Backing away from the bed with a hurried limp, Brielle snatched the now cool kettle of tea from the dresser and whirling swept out of the room.

"What in the world has gotten into her?" he wondered aloud, totally flabbergasted by her bizarre behavior.

Sighing, Erik turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, scratching his chin absently. Women, he was afraid, would always remain a mystery to him. As Erik mentally ticked off the events of the day, the fatigue which had been hovering at the edges of his consciousness began to now pull his eyelids downwards. He fought this growing drowsiness as he had fought earlier to keep his head above water, but he could tell this time he would lose the battle. Despite how he longed to replay the conversation he had just had with Brielle over again in his head, Erik knew that the trials of the day had taken their toll. He needed to rest.

Closing his eyes the masked man yawned loudly, letting the minutes pass in stillness, waiting for unconsciousness. The gears in his mind slowing and slowing until all thoughts of the day drifted off into the fingers of mist enfolding his brain. Even as he floated weightless in that mysterious place just between waking and sleep, the cold continued to numb his fingers and send intermittent shivers along his limbs.

When, after an unknown time of laying inert upon the bed, a warm hand slipped into his frozen palm Erik merely wrapped his fingers about the welcomed heat without question. The dream was pleasant, the guilt and uncertainty remaining within his heart melting as he held onto the phantom hand as if it were real. Somehow the dream presence warming him now reminded him of someone…someone important…someone who could warm him with just a smile.

Smiling, he fell deeper into the dream, the image of a white-haired woman floating in his mind. "Brielle…"


	27. In the Arms of an Angel

**Hello everyone! It is time for the next chapter of my one and only story. I am so jealous of those authors who are able to put up a chapter every other day. Unfortunately my work schedule doesn't always allow me much time to write. It is sad I know. Hehe. **

**Anyway thanks to all those who have been reviewing my story. It has been very encouraging to hear from everyone. **

**And of course another big thanks to my incredible and fabulous beta Juliana. She is constantly helping me out by catching all my weird inconsistencies! So everyone enjoy this next installment. **

**P.S. I wish to express my deepest condolences to all of my British readers for the tragedy which happened in London on the 7th. Our thoughts here are with you.**

Chapter 27: In the Arms of an Angel

A fragrant spring breeze gently wafted over Brielle as she sat rocking drowsily upon the front stoop. She could feel the wind coolly caress her cheeks as she tilted her face upward, smiling as the sun warmed her skin and turned the insides of her eyelids scarlet. The rhythmic creaking of her chair was soothing and she let her mind wander as she leaned her head back against the headrest. A wind chime tinkled bell-like nearby, sounding sweet and a little forlorn as Brielle breathed in the serenity of the moment. _I never knew it felt so good to simply be still and listen. _

She stopped the movement of her chair and opened her eyes as a peal of laughter interrupted her musings. Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the bright light, Brielle sat up straighter to catch a glimpse of Aria as the child ran happily across the yard. Watching her daughter playing out in the grass brought a grin to the white haired woman's heart shaped lips, but after a moment the smile slipped from her face.

Though the scene of Aria was ideal, for some reason worry clenched at Brielle's gut as her dove gray eyes followed the child. _Something happened I should remember._ Stiffening in her chair a flicker of another image super imposed itself over her vision. As Aria played in the yard Brielle could clearly see her floundering in the middle of an icy pond, but as she blinked the strange sight faded from her mind. _Am I dreaming? What an odd thing to think about. _

Driven by the anxiety remaining leaden in her abdomen the Irishwoman leaned forward in her chair, intending to climb to her feet and call her daughter back to the house, but was hindered by the heaviness of her own body. She felt weighed down, as if she had suddenly gained twenty pounds about her midsection. _Maybe I am getting a cold. I do feel a little strange_, she thought to herself with a sigh as she stepped to the edge of the porch and raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

"Aria, do come back to the house."

At her mother's voice, Aria turned and skipped merrily toward the porch. Feeling more at ease, Brielle returned her daughter's grin and leaned tiredly against one of the porch posts. Raising a hand to press against her forehead, the white haired woman once again closed her eyes out of fatigue. _I am just being obsessive. Everything is fine. _

When a heavy footstep sounded behind her, Brielle jumped slightly and straightened. Before she could turn to face the newcomer a pair of strong arms wrapped gently about her waist, the large fine boned hands coming to rest upon her stomach. Though this occurrence was highly irregular, Brielle found herself merely smiling in response to this man's audacity.

"Did I not ask you to stay off your feet for five minutes?" a man's voice with a delightful French inflection inquired against her ear. The rough bristles of his day old beard tickled along the side of her cheek.

Somewhere deep in her mind, Brielle knew that she should be outraged by the liberties this man was taking but instead she merely leaned back into his embrace, enjoying his smell, of mulled spices and the night. Everything about this stranger seemed familiar, but try as she might Brielle's foggy brain couldn't quite grasp onto the memory she was searching for. A name whispered through her thoughts but she was too content to pay attention to it.

"I would have thought that by now you would be used to me doing as I pleased," she heard herself saying vaguely, her voice sounding odd and distant even to her own ears. _What is wrong with me? _

The man patted her tummy and laughed. "You always have the last word. I only hope our child will be slightly less talkative than you."

Blinking to try and clear her head Brielle turned her face to the side, attempting to catch a glimpse of her gentle captor. "What child?"

Another chuckle rose up in the man as he gave her a squeeze. "What child? You do constantly astound me!" His laughter subsiding, the man nuzzled tenderly into the nape of Brielle's neck. "Why the one we had so much fun making about eight and a half months ago, my dear."

Even at this outlandish statement Brielle's shock was muted, distant. Even as her eyes fell down to stare disbelieving at her extremely pregnant belly the panic bells only rang halfheartedly within her head. _This can't be right…_her mind chanted, though her treacherous heart thrived on the situation, on the man's arms holding her close, on the life she could feel kicking within her. She felt safe…happy. How long was it since she had felt like this?

Just as Brielle turned her head back and upward to smile at the mystery man, the ground under her feet gave a lurch, her world shifting and fading as she searched for his face. From out of the whirlwind of smeared colors now swirling about her Brielle could just make out the crystalline blue orbs of her mystery man.

"What is your name?" But the eyes didn't answer and the pressure of those splendid arms about her loosened. "Wait! Tell me your name!" she cried again, reaching out to grasp at nothing but air.

The soft earth tones of the spring countryside bled out into blackness before her eyes, and she was left standing alone in the middle of a vast dark void. All the calm, all the warm contentment Brielle had felt only moments ago petered out and died within her heart. She turned slowly in the disorientating but slightly familiar darkness as she felt the cool, moist stones under her feet. _I have been here before._

A pistol's unforgiving weight pressed against the heel of her palm, but she could not remember why it was there nor was she afraid. It was as if she were watching her own actions from a distance. As she took a step forward Brielle held the gun steadily out before her. Her mouth opened to call out someone's name but a sharp sound to her right stopped her. She swung her weapon around but it was knocked from her hands and discharged when it hit the floor. In the split second of light the gun powder provided Brielle caught a flash image of her attacker's face or rather of the black mask covering the top half of his head.

Distantly, the sound of overeager bird song broke into the nightmare of Brielle's sleeping mind. With a groan the white haired woman grimaced in the morning light, squeezing her eyes even more tightly shut as reality became ever sharper.

"Bless those bloody birds," she murmured thankfully as she peeked one eye open to gaze about the room before immediately shutting it once again. She could feel the familiar twinge of a headache pumping between her temples, putting her in a terrible mood. _And to top it all off, I seem to have fallen asleep in my clothes. _

_And that dream was so pleasant in the beginning,_ she thought with a touch of regret wrinkling her forehead. _Whatever brought it on though? The end was rather odd._ Pushing the nightmare chase from her mind Brielle turned her thoughts to the more pleasant aspects of her nighttime musings.Thinking about the first half of her dream brought a dark blush rushing into her cheeks. Obviously, with her awake mind analyzing the circumstances, the man in the dream must have been Erik. The realization was horrifying in itself, but even more terrifying was the fact that Brielle found herself wishing the dream to be true. She could still feel the phantom pressure of the dream man's arms about her. _I am letting my imagination run away with me. After all for awhile there I actually thought I was in love with Erik…and how silly would that have been? It would have been ridiculous, absurd. _Oh, how she wished she still didn't feel that wonderful and awful giddiness in her stomach at the very thought of the man.

With a great sigh Brielle shook her head slightly and moved to sit up, only to find she was unable to move. A great weight about her middle prevented any upward movement; her heart started to bang against her rib cage as she raised her hands to her waist only to find someone else's hand already there. The sheer shock of the discovery sent her mind reeling, the panic delayed by the gargantuan effort it took for her brain to process the situation.

As her fingers slowly investigated the alien hand, her eyes dropped to gaze down the length of her body. Sure enough, there draped over the curve of her waist, was a beautiful musician's hand. Even as she continued to stare, dumbfounded, those long fine boned fingers flexed and smoothed down the soft velvet covering her stomach. Brielle frowned terribly when even that slight movement sent a shameful thrill racing through her blood. She knew it was Erik she lay next to as surely as she knew her own thoughts. It was that hand - no one else had hands like he did, strong, capable, wonderful hands.

And now the panic set in, crowding all else from her head. _What am I going to do? How did I even get here? I remember sitting up with him…I must have drowsed off and accidentally climbed in the bed. Oh God! I am a wanton! _But even above these hurried conclusions, one thought reigned supreme. _I have to get out of here before he wakes up!_ It was vitally important that he should not know where she had spent the night.

Sucking in a deep breath, Brielle tried to calm herself. _Ok. Ok. Just stop and think for awhile. You remember how to think right? Oh God I am going crazy!_ Carefully raising a hand to the one resting against her stomach, Brielle attempted to free herself from Erik's sleeping grip. After a short pause she carefully took hold of a few of the man's fingers and began to pry them from her body. For a few moments it appeared that this simple extraction would work, but before Brielle could slip from the bed Erik's hand clenched about her fingers, his arm tightening vise-like about her, drawing her closer as he shifted in his sleep. Brielle nearly came out of her skin when the hard warmth of the man's chest pressed against her back.

Now in a worse spot than she had started out in, her own hand pinned under his, Brielle awkwardly angled her head to the side, frowning over her shoulder as she tried to assure herself that Erik was indeed asleep - the situation was just too comical to be real. Though unable to see his face, she felt certain that the deep, even rhythm of his breathing was indicative of slumber.

Huffing now with frustration Brielle rolled her eyes skyward, hoping to find some serenity pasted upon the ceiling. Seeing none, the woman turned her gaze upon the hand resting comfortably upon her hip. Slowly pulling her hand free Brielle scooted closer to the edge of the bed, trying to give herself enough leverage to turn over. With a grimace of concentration she painstakingly shifted her weight so that she lay flat on her back. Then, with great care, Brielle again rotated her body in order to bring her right shoulder up.

Now she lay face to face with the man who she had so recently come to consider as more than just a friend. Though this had been her intention as she had squirmed in his grasp, Brielle had not been prepared for the shock that paralyzed her now from being so close to him. The pair lay very nearly nose to nose, mere inches separating their faces. Her entire body went completely still; she hardly remembered to breathe as the warmth of his breath caressed her cheek.

What was more frightening than the thought of him waking to find her in this awkward position was that Brielle found herself rather enjoying it. It had been a long time since she had felt the security of another adult body pressed to hers. The feeling wasn't altogether unpleasant. In fact, the heat radiating from him was comforting. And although the touch at her waist was slight, the pressure from his hand was heady. Her mind reeled every time one of his fingers jerked. _It wouldn't be too bad if I just rested here a moment,_ she thought momentarily as she raised one hand to hover a breath's distance from Erik's face, her eyes watching his every breath with an intensity she hadn't known she possessed.

He lay on his right side, the masked side of his face pressed deep into the pillow, leaving his beautifully rugged features out for the world to see. White spring sun wash flooded through the window, limning the hard planes and angles of his body like the silver edging on a cloud. It made him seem not a real man at all, but a thing made of stone. Brielle felt a strange seizing, deep in her heart as if it, like the whole rest of the world, had ceased beating.

Even as her eyes drifted shut in abandon to the magic of the moment, the logical voice within her head began shouting reprimands. Sighing with heartfelt regret Brielle shifted back slightly whilst she opened her eyes, her heart aching all the while. This wasn't proper. It wasn't right to torture herself with what wasn't real.

Suddenly she was angry with herself for allowing the daydream to take over her thoughts, for allowing this sweet pain to engulf her heart. _This isn't real. I am being foolish. I just got a little overexcited because of the accident. It will go away…I'll stop feeling this way. I have to be able to stop it. I will not allow it to happen again!_

The prospect that she could possibly be subjected to the same sort of agony as when John died was terrorizing. Brielle refused to believe what her heart was trying to tell her. _I am not in love with him!_ Desperate now to be away from Erik, Brielle pressed a hand against his naked chest, pushing with all her might against the iron strength of his arm about her. She was done with using stealth in gaining her freedom and had decided to move on to brute force. _I have to get away from him before I lose my mind!_

"Come on!" she growled, as she raised her good foot to likewise add to the backward force she was applying upon his grip.

At her words, Erik's eyes slowly fluttered open, his long lashes shading the china blue of his eyes as he stared foggily into Brielle's flushed face. "It wasn't a dream then," he mumbled against the pillow.

"What wasn't a dream?" Brielle breathed, feeling as if she had been caught doing something dirty.

"You," he replied, one corner of his mouth curving up in a sleepy smile as he shut his eyes once again. On the verge of cursing, the white haired woman shook her head in amazement. Opening her mouth, Brielle decided to verbally rouse the man.

She was interrupted when Erik's eyes flashed open once again unexpectedly. Recognition and utter shock flickered over his face as the man's mouth gaped open. A few seconds passed as the pair stared silently at one another. Erik glanced dumbfounded down at his own arm as if he hardly believed the thing holding her to him was actually attached. Then the band of steel about Brielle's waist vanished as he suddenly released his hold.

Startled, Brielle found herself unprepared for his hasty action and could not stop her backward motion. With a shriek, the Irishwoman tumbled head over heels off the edge of the bed. Her bottom smacked against the floorboards with a thump. The silence which followed her fall was deafening, until the subtle rustling of the bed sheets above her broke through the ringing in her ears. Hesitantly, Erik's face peeked over the side of the bed, one of his hands carefully adjusting the placement of his mask.

"Are you injured?" he asked, almost bashfully.

"Not at all! I often throw myself onto the floor in order to get some exercise," she snapped, venting her internal struggles on him. Pushing him away with her words because she was acutely frightened of what his close proximity had done to her.

At the overt hostility in her tone, Erik's expression quickly closed in upon itself. Though his eyes continued to regard her with hesitant curiosity, his face hardened. "Excuse me, I hadn't intended to toss you onto your backside, but I must confess you startled me!"

Sighing, Brielle waved a dismissive hand his way. _I shouldn't take it out on him…_ "It is alright. It was my fault anyway," she said as she moved to get to her feet.

Pulling back from her view for a moment, Erik swung his legs over the edge of the bed, a sheet firmly clenched about his waist. "Here, let me help you," he stated, more as a command than an offer as he held out one hand to her.

Glancing at his hand as if it were a poisonous viper Brielle remained stubbornly where she was. _If I touch him again… _Erik waited with growing impatience while she merely stared up at him. Finally losing his temper the man reached down, gripping her hand and hauling her to her feet. Apparently he was feeling better than yesterday.

Brielle attempted to jerk free of his grasp, but his hand was like a shackle about her wrist. He looked roguish and rowdy, and a little lonely sitting there with his hair sticking up at odd angles with that sheet still griped firmly about his hips. She knew he was at his most dangerous at times like this, times when his vast arsenal was slightly off kilter.

"What was that all about?" he inquired quietly, a dark flush working its way up his throat.

"Oh, don't pay it any thought," she replied hastily as she spun her wedding ring around her finger. "I had been sitting up with both you and Aria through the night to make sure no fever developed. I must have nodded off the last time I came in here. Though I am not sure how, while I was sleeping I must have accidentally climbed onto the bed."

At the end of her explanation, Erik merely stared at her quietly. As Brielle watched, she was almost certain a flicker of disappointment rose up in his eyes before sinking below the surface again. _I have lost my mind. Now I am seeing things._

Plastering a bright smile over the nervousness on her face, Brielle once again gave her hand a sharp tug, but to no avail. Just as Erik opened his mouth to reply to her, the bedroom door burst open. Whipping her head toward the sound, Brielle felt Erik's grip upon her wrist spasm in surprise.

"My, my, what seems to be going on in here?" the laughing voice of Conner asked loudly as the redhead leaned absently against the door frame.

At his question Erik immediately released Brielle's hand. Glad for the excuse to leave, Brielle hurriedly crossed the room to stand near her brother. "Oh nothing. I was just checking up on his condition, but I will be going now."

Cocking one eyebrow at her, Conner grinned devilishly. "Yeah, I am sure you were giving him a checkup," he laughed as his sister punched him in the arm. "I just came from looking in on Aria. She is awake now. Did you know she is calling that new doll of hers 'Erik'?" Confused by the sudden change in subject, Brielle could only nod.

Reaching up to rub his chin, Conner hummed in thought. "Did you tell her to do that?"

"Of course not. She simply likes that name."

Pushing off of the doorframe, Conner dropped his hand to his side. "That is funny - you had a toy by the same name when you were young. I believe it was a little cloth monkey, though."

"Oh, I did not you liar. I don't remember anything about that!"

"Yeah well it disappeared when you were about three or so. Da never did find it." Pausing for a moment, Conner glanced over at Erik with a wink. "Anyway, I came in here to tell you that Mister Fancy Pants has arrived and wishes to speak to you, Brielle."

"Fine, thank you very much," she replied as she breezed past her brother raising her hands to hastily fix her hair. Quickly hopping down the hallway, Brielle could hear Conner's voice chatting loudly with Erik. She turned a corner and their voices were shut off.

When she didn't find Andrew standing in the front hall, Brielle popped her head into the parlor. There she saw the man in question looking out the side window, his arms clenched behind his back. Crossing the threshold, Brielle stepped into the room. At the sound of her foot upon a loose floorboard, Andrew turned to look at her.

He smiled and unclasped his hands. "It is good to see you, Brielle. I trust everything is well now. I did not hear from the doctor I sent. Did you find him satisfactory?"

"Forgive me, I did not thank you for sending the doctor."

Andrew continued to smile as she talked, his coal black eyes glittering in the strong sunlight. "There is no need for thanks. It was the least I could do," he said with a slight shrug of one shoulder. Slowly the smile faded from his face. It was replaced with, surprisingly enough, worry. "I do hope you are not still upset by my actions yesterday. I care for you and Arianna deeply. I was just trying to think of the best way to save her. When you partially fell through the ice I nearly had a heart attack."

Shaking her head, Brielle averted her eyes. Deep in her heart of hearts she still felt betrayed by his lack of action, but in her head she knew what he said now must be the truth. "I am not upset with you, Andrew. You were only doing what you thought best. Your concern is admirable."

Nodding in understanding, Andrew once again smiled stiffly at her. "I am glad to hear that. I must confess I was terribly worried last night that you would hate me this morning." Taking out his gold plated pocket watch, the black eyed man checked the time quickly. "Forgive me for not staying longer, but I have a great deal of business to take care of in Paris. If you should need anything, do not hesitate to call upon me."

Secretly glad he would not be staying for long, Brielle grinned at him. Her foot was beginning to pain her; she was not in the mood to entertain. "Do not worry about us. Everything is fine here now."

Striding confidently across the room, Andrew stopped in front of her to place a light kiss upon her hand. Brielle shied at his gesture of goodwill, but tried to not outwardly show it. It had not been long ago when it was Erik gripping that hand. How she wished it was not Andrew holding her now. When he released her hand, she walked him to the front door. Not waiting to watch him go down the road, Brielle quickly closed the door and leaned back against it.

"You have gotten yourself into terrible trouble this time, Brielle," she murmured to herself as she stared off into space before straightening and walking across the hall to go and check on Aria.


	28. Love is a Battlefield

**Hello once again my wonderful readers. Chapter 28 is ready and waiting for your perusal. But before we get to that I would once again like to thank my beta Juliana for her help with this chapter. Three cheers for Juliana!**

**Oh and also another big thanks to those who have been reviewing my story. It is greatly appreciated! **

Chapter 28: Love is a Battlefield

Five days had passed since the terrible accident out on the pond and with every sunrise the weather outside grew increasingly lovelier. The warmth of the sun ate constantly away at the thin layer of frost covering the ground until none was left. Within the pond itself only a delicate ring of ice remained in a lacework about the edge of the dark water. Loud popping and screeching was heard echoing over the yard as the sap within the poplar trees began to flow again.

Spring had officially arrived, though the beauty of the crystalline blue sky and tender electric green flower buds could not assuage the growing tension within the Donovan house hold. The day after Brielle had woken up in Erik's arms was the day Aria developed a fever.

Brielle berated herself now as she sat on the edge of her daughter's bed. _Aria had been acting sluggish. I should have recognized that she was ill before the fever took hold but I was too bloody busy worrying about what to think about my relationship with Erik._ Gently, the white haired woman leaned forward and brushed Aria's hair from her pale chubby cheeks. Her snowy brows came down into an anxious frown as the heat from the child's bare skin burned Brielle's palm.

At the sight of her mother's worried expression Aria shifted restlessly, her small hands coming up to grasp weakly at her mother's arm. "M-Momma, don't be s-so w-worried."

Rallying a smile, Brielle turned and plucked a thermometer off the marble topped bedside table. "I am not worried, love," she lied. "I was simply thinking about what the fairy queen told me last night in my dreams."

"Who is th-the fairy queen?" the child asked quietly before Brielle placed the thermometer in her mouth.

Feigning outrage, the Irishwoman covered her mouth and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Why, she rules over all the fairies. Traveling the countryside at night in her tiny acorn chariot as it is pulled by crickets to visit people while they sleep. She walks in the dreams of all the people who believe in her, making sure their minds are free from nightmares. Sometimes she even whispers warnings about the future into their ears."

Aria's fever-dulled eyes lit up at the story and a small smile curved up around the thermometer in her mouth. "Is sh-she the one who t-tells you th-the future?" she murmured, the instrument between her lips bobbing wildly with each word.

Nodding sagely even as she watched the mercury continue to rise degree by degree in the glass tube protruding from Aria's mouth, Brielle carefully glanced at her watch. "Aye, indeed she is. For those with the second sight are said to have a wee bit of fairy blood running through their bodies," she murmured as she removed the thermometer and stared at the reading. _102 degrees, that is worse than yesterday. _

"D-Do I have fairy b-blood?" Aria asked tiredly as she slowly closed her eyes.

Taking a steadying breath, Brielle nodded absently as she hastily shook the mercury back down. "Absolutely you do. That is partially what makes you so special, but I think you should have a little rest now," she said as she stood and moved to wet a cloth in a waiting bowl of water. Wringing out the rag Brielle walked back to the bedside, placing the cool cloth over Aria's forehead.

"M-Momma will you s-sing to m-me till I g-go to s-sleep?"

"Yes, love. Just shut your eyes and rest," Brielle replied softly, tucking the blanket about Aria's small, shivering body. As the child shut her eyes, Brielle began humming a slow, sad tune softly. Running her fingers through Aria's long black hair the Irish woman opened her mouth, adding words to the lyrical and haunting melody.

_On the ocean that hollows the rocks where ye dwell,_

_A shadowy land has appeared, as they tell;_

_Men thought it a region of sunshine and rest,_

_And they called it Hy-Brasail the isle of the blest._

_From year unto year on the ocean's blue rim,_

_The beautiful spectre showed lovely and dim;_

_The golden clouds curtained the deep where it lay,_

_And it looked like an Eden, away, far away!_

Drawing out the last note to the ballad as if she couldn't bear to let it go, Brielle carefully laid Aria's new doll next to her on the bed. She did not continue the song into the next verse after seeing that her daughter had already drifted off. Slowly letting out the sigh she had been holding since entering the room, Brielle sat utterly still as she stared down at the sleeping child. Rubbing a hand down the side of her face as she gathered her thoughts, the Irish woman once again glanced down at the thermometer hanging limply in her left hand. As the contrived smile slipped from her face, Brielle tightened her hold on the traitorous instrument until her knuckles bleached white.

Standing quietly, she turned and swept out of the room before the panic could fully pinch her mouth into a tight white line. Once out in the hall Brielle carefully pushed the door shut, purposely catching the latch with a soft snick. Leaning her forehead against the cool dark wood, her hand still gripping the door knob, the young woman drew in a deep calming breath. The digits she had just read upon the thermometer burned brightly behind her closed eyelids. _It is worse than yesterday. _

Opening her eyes to stare unseeing at the dark ebbs and swirls of the wood grain, Brielle let the rolling waves of sick terror churn within her stomach. Thick bands of unease tightened across her chest until she was sure her ribs would break from the unbearable pressure. _What am I going to do? I have applied cool compresses. I have given her every blasted fever remedy from here to China. What am I missing…I have to be missing something. It should have broken by now. _

Prying her fingers slowly from the door handle Brielle blinked rapidly, wetting the burning dryness of her eyes. Doggedly, she pushed the worrying voices in her head to the back burner, momentarily freeing her thoughts from the black cloud of anxiety she had been operating under for the last several days. Pushing away from her daughter's bedroom door Brielle turned, her face bone white and blank, and walked slowly down the hallway.

Through the numbness blessedly fogging up Brielle's thoughts the sound of distant piano music reached her ears, slowly drawing her down the hall to stand just outside the parlor. She had no words in her considerable vocabulary to describe the sultry sound of each note, nor the extraordinary response it evoked in her. The keys held a strange energy, a life of their own, that brought tears rushing into her already red rimmed eyes, softly seducing her body so that her knees turned to water and a light sweat broke out across her upper lip. Raising a shaking hand to her quickly flushing cheek Brielle cast her eyes about the hallway, searching for the strength to right herself and stand unmoved against the terrible power of the music drifting through the air.

Erik was at it again. Lately some kind of feverish obsession had driven the man to be constantly banging away upon the keys. When he couldn't get his hands upon an instrument, Brielle caught him humming with a dark intensity down the hallway or tapping out a beat with his heel upon a chair leg. What was amazing about the whole situation was that every note emanating from him was apparently composed on the spot. For the most part Brielle was glad for the distraction of his music - she was sure she would have gone mad with worry had it not been for the cascading springs of sound flowing from the front parlor. But it was at times like this, when Erik had chosen to play out some sweet and terribly soft ballad, ensnaring her senses, that Brielle cursed the man's name.

Brielle locked her wobbly knees and stubbornly straightened her shoulders. She would not be so weak as to faint at the mere sound of some twittering upon the piano. Pulling at the modest slate gray jacket she wore over an only slightly rumpled white cotton blouse, Brielle turned upon her heel and took several stiff steps away from that blasted noise. _I have other things to do besides drool over a little meddling on the piano. I could try altering the willow tea I gave to Aria…perhaps the concentration wasn't right. That's right, another concentration is the key and maybe I could…_the worrying thoughts were quick to reinvade her consciousness.

She had made it halfway back down the hallway when the first pure, bell-like notes of his heavenly tenor tore through her thoughts. Brielle's vision dimmed and she feared she would collapse outright as a burst of physical pleasure shook her to the very core of her being. Never in her life had anything touched her so. It was shocking, confusing, terrifying.

Brielle's eyes drifted shut for a brief moment as the new layers his voice added wrapped lovingly about her already tired brain. Until that moment she had been certain she could overcome the pull of Erik's magnetism, but now doubt infused what was left of her cognitive capacities. _How can I fight something I can't see?_ she wondered absently, floating on the sweet melody surrounding her.

When silence suddenly jarred her ears, Brielle jerked her eyes open with a start. Fuzzily, she gazed about the parlor, a frown creeping onto her flushed face. _When did I come in here? I don't even remember moving._ Horrified, she turned her attention to the man seated at the piano, his hands falling from the keys to rest upon his thighs as he stared at her. _How long have I been standing here like a dolt!_

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to intrude," she blurted without ceremony.

Erik quickly looked away from the embarrassment staining her face to gaze down at his own hands. "Do not apologize. I did not know you were at this end of the house," he mumbled in response, looking strangely guilty for a moment. "I will play something else if you plan to be near for awhile," he continued, turning his back to her and efficiently dismissing her.

This had also become a norm, the cool distance in his speech and manner. Brielle attributed this change to the mortifying incident in his bedroom a few days ago. Neither of them was quite sure how to act around the other. It was no wonder the man was keeping clear of her, he no doubt thought her a madwoman, or worse, a harlot. _Perhaps it is for the better, _she thought sadly. _It will help me remember to conduct myself properly in his presence. _

Recovering slowly from the shivers still racing down her spine, Brielle nervously ran her hands down the front of her skirts. "Everything you have been playing lately…I have never heard before. You write it all, don't you?"

Waving a haughty hand in her direction, he shrugged. "I wouldn't call it writing. I am just playing a few simple ditties that are flying about my head. It helps to relieve tension. And Aria likes to hear the music while she is awake."

Brielle made a soft sound deep in her throat as one of the reasons for his strange behavior dawned upon her. The poor man was making himself crazy with worry, only his obsession played itself out on the piano rather than in medical textbooks. His concern was touching. _If the fool man had voiced his unease rather than bottle it up it would have saved me considerable time tiptoeing around him. _

"Honestly Erik, you should compose professionally. Or at the very least teach. I have never known a greater talent for bringing music to life."

Only then did he turn his attention back to her face, a slight blush staining his high cheek bones at her compliment. "For a time I thought about teaching professionally," he began honestly. "I always wanted to help people hear the same beauty I do every day. Music tends to reach where words cannot." A brief and hollow sadness darkened his expression. He made a sudden jerking motion with his shoulders then as if to throw off the weight of his thoughts before he reached up and pulled the key cover over the ivory. "But it was never meant to be."

"That is terribly sad. You have such a gift for helping people. I have watched you with Aria. You inspire by simple example."

"Don't overly concern yourself," he snapped. "That is ancient history. I have accepted it."

Glaring over at him as his expression darkened into a deep brooding frown, Brielle fisted her hands upon her hips. "Well thanks a-mighty my good sir for releasing me from that obligation. My mind is free of worry now that I don't have to concern myself over you! By the way Aria's temperature has gone up a degree since yesterday!" she exploded, her hair-trigger temper set off instantly by both the bleak worry pounding within her head and the nasty tone in his voice.

Turning with a snap Brielle swept out of the room, a red film of anger misting the corners of her vision. Without looking back the irate woman stomped into the kitchen, ignoring the pain burning up her leg from her injured foot. Snatching up a bucket of soapy water she had set aside earlier in the day, Brielle dropped it onto the middle of the floor, intending to overcome both her fury and her anxiety with hard, mind numbing work.

Quickly rolling up her sleeves, the white haired woman hiked up her skirts and fell to her knees next to the bucket. She reached into the water and plucked out a scrub brush just as Erik stormed into the room. Ignoring the man, Brielle proceeded to set the brush to the stone floor in fast, furious strokes.

Stepping into the room and jabbing a finger in her direction, Erik demanded her attention. "Excuse me! Am I to assume by your childish outburst that you are implying that I am unconcerned about that poor child's health? Because if that should be the case then you are terribly mistaken! I haven't slept in days due to the worry crushing out all my thoughts. I can't even finish an entire overture without forgetting which one I have started."

"Well you needn't take it out on me, you blasted scoundrel. I was trying to be civil when you took a nasty tone! I do not have time to doctor your feelings as well as my daughter!" she shouted, roughly sloshing water onto the floor.

"Likewise, I find it terribly ungallant of you to be constantly making noise about the house when I am trying to think! Do you know how hard it is to think when all I hear all day every day is that bloody piano?" Nearly upsetting her bucket as she slammed the brush back into its sudsy contents, Brielle stared fixedly at the floor.

Brielle could see Erik slowly fist his hands at his sides. She knew she was being cruel, but could not seem to stop the words pouring out of her mouth. The pressure of three days' worth of panic and frustration had finally proven too much for her composure. It all came bursting out now with every venomous word dripping from her lips. She had the odd sensation that a madwoman must have taken over her body and decided to scream at Brielle's dearest friend.

Erik remained quiet for several moments after she had finished, his taut silence making her acutely uncomfortable. "If my presence is such a bother, perhaps it would be better if I left. I have only stayed so long because I felt I was doing some good by teaching Aria. I had no idea you felt so put upon the whole time."

Shocked by his softly delivered suggestion, Brielle stopped attacking the floor and stared mutely up at him. A horror likened only to those she had felt after her prophetic nightmares surged into her chest, compressing her throat and lungs until she was certain she would suffocate. _He can't leave…he can't leave me!_ Slowly, she felt her face contort into a mask of pure rage as the horror morphed into burning temper.

"How dare you suggest I would begrudge you one cent, you beast! How callous and ill mannered do you consider me! I make one little comment about the volume and frequency of your obsessive playing and you threaten to run off. Just try it and I will set the hounds of hell itself out upon your heels!" she screeched, slinging an arc of dirty water in his direction.

"Stop that and talk to me like an adult, you crazy viper," he hissed, his eyes glittering dangerously when she continued to violently throw handfuls of soap and water at him, her hair coming loose to hang like white wedding ribbons about her face.

"Don't you order me about!" she snapped, waving her brush dramatically in his direction. "I have to do something with my hands or I'll go absolutely mad!"

"I don't care! I do not ask for something twice and I said to look at me while I am talking!" he bellowed, advancing into the room and giving her bucket a sound kick, sending it sliding across the floor only to upend a few paces away.

A momentary silence followed his hasty action as they both stared at each other with varying levels of shock tightening their features. Her mouth hanging open in surprise at his unexpected display of violence Brielle slowly climbed to her feet, avoiding the spreading pool of liquid creeping her way.

"I can't believe you just did that," she murmured, staring blankly down at the bucket as it wobbled back and forth a few feet away. When she looked up at his face, a dark horrified blush was creeping up his neck. But before he could open his mouth her shock had already worn off.

Gripping the brush in her right hand, Brielle drew back her hand and let the thing fly across the room; it hit Erik square in the chest before bouncing to the floor with a clatter. "That is for making a mess." Stomping across the room to stand nose to nose with the man she flung back her hand again, intending to punch him in the nose. "And this is for…"

Before she could lay her fist across his face, Erik easily grabbed both her hands with a crushing force. Though he had dropped into a guilty silence after upending the bucket all over the floor, no sign of anything but blinding fury now burned behind the blue of his eyes. "Don't you dare lay a hand on me," he purred dangerously.

"Let me go!" she demanded, returning his heated glare without blinking. Stubbornly raising her chin she repeated herself once more, noticing that as she did so Erik's glare faltered and dropped momentarily to her mouth. When he did not respond, a small spike of fear crept up through the anger. Never in her life had a man been so purposely rough with her. She had almost forgotten how strong Erik was beneath the calm restraint with which he normally operated. He could hurt her if he wanted to.

Driven by this new spurt of emotion, Brielle began to fight like a wildcat. Dropping her weight without warning the woman fell to the floor, dragging her captor with her. Kicking her legs madly she didn't notice whether she hit flesh or floor as she rolled violently to the side, trying to dislodge his grip on her hands. Cursing, Erik did release her, but quickly recovering from a lucky kick he pounced on top of her, effectively pinning her writhing body to the floor.

Panting from her exertion Brielle momentarily continued her fight, but upon finding it completely useless she stilled. Her hands now pinned above her head, her legs weighted down by the man atop her, Brielle found herself in a worse situation than the one she had been in. Erik's head sagged against her right shoulder as he struggled to catch his breath. As he released a deep sigh against the sensitive skin just under her ear every muscle in her body stiffened to suppress a sharp gasp. His movements had instantly and shockingly turned her insides into mush.

Her mind went utterly blank as Erik raised himself up to glare warily down at her. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came through his lips as the man's eyes once again fell to her trembling lips. "I…er…rather…" he mumbled incoherently, the grip he had upon her wrists loosening.

Breathing shallowly in short excited bursts Brielle closed her eyes, letting his every breath wash over her burning face. Her heart picking up speed when Erik tore his gaze away from her face and moved as if to get up, without thinking Brielle took advantage of his loosened grip and jerked one hand up to grab hold of his lapels. The only thought swirling about her head was a desperate need for him to stay.

With a shudder, he stared intently off to the side. "Brielle, it is best if I get up now…or…I'll…"

"Absolutely not…" she growled furiously before dragging his face closer to hers with one jerk of his shirt. The butterflies delicately fluttering about her stomach suddenly transformed into jack rabbits, leaving her breathless with every beat of her heart.

Something within her head clicked out of place, effectively muffling the cool logical voice within her head. Brielle could feel another shiver run the length of his entire body at her words and found his reaction to be deliciously exciting. Enthralled by the feelings igniting in her blood, she watched as if in a dream as Erik's head swiveled slightly toward her. The dark, barely leashed tension of lust stole over his features as his breath began to saw in and out of his chest. The man was teetering on the brink of his control, and at that heart pounding moment Brielle was happy to push him over the edge.

Slowly she slid her tongue over her bottom lip, watching his eyes dilate as she did so. And then time slowed and slowed…and stopped, as his hand came up to hesitantly follow the trail of her tongue across her lip, brushing her skin with the barest tips of his fingers as if he feared she would disappear at his touch. A soft curse escaped his sinful mouth before he crushed it to hers. Any anger felt just minutes ago morphed easily into hot, almost violent, passion.

His mouth was so hard, so hard. But his fingers combing through her hair were gentle. The sound of her hairpins pinging against the stone floor filled the air with an odd, off kilter melody as Brielle sucked greedily on his top lip, drawing a wobbling whimper from the electrifying man clumsily responding to her ministrations. It took him several seconds to find an instinctive primal rhythm of motion which sent her brain into the outer reaches of the universe. Any memory of his initial groping inexperience was forgotten as his mouth did things to Brielle that she had almost forgotten were possible. Her hands began snaking up to loop tightly around the back of Erik's neck, gripping the cloth of his shirt as if her life depended on it.

Tilting her head back with the stroke of one hand, Erik changed the angle of the kiss, deepening it to frantic levels. Without thought of anything but the breathtaking shivers starting deep in her abdomen, Brielle did not hesitate to open her lips to him when his tongue ran demandingly along her bottom lip. The buttons of her prim little jacket popped open easily as his fingers slid almost roughly up under the fabric to start a new exploration of her upper torso. Arching her back into his hand, Brielle let her teeth graze over his bottom lip.

Just as his fingers thrust eagerly between the stays on her blouse, burning as he grazed her undergarments, a loud series of hacking coughs burst dramatically in the air. Instantly both Brielle and Erik stilled, listening to the painful sound. Slowly opening her eyes, Brielle was just in time to see an expression of horror pass over Erik's face before the man jerked his hands from her torso, holding them in the air as if she had burned him somehow.

Placing his hands on the ground on either side of her head, Erik levered himself up and off of her in the blink of an eye. Pacing back and forth several steps with great agitation the man covered his face with both hands, mumbling all the while something about ruining all that was good. When Brielle fuzzily sat up, Erik started slightly and turned towards her, tears glittering in his over-wide eyes.

"Forgive me," he murmured before turning and fleeing out of the kitchen door, leaving Brielle mussed and stunned in his wake.

Shakily she climbed to her feet, calling after him only to hear the front door open and slam shut. _It was my fault…God, what he must think…what is wrong with me…I have lost my mind. _Another series of wracking coughs interrupted Brielle's pursuit. She stopped and turned automatically towards her daughter's room. Only when she had taken several steps down the hall did she even realize she was sopping with the soapy water Erik had spilled across the floor. Kicking an end table, Brielle cursed loudly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Andrew sat quietly, tapping a cigarette against the edge of an ashtray as his coal black eyes scanned the grubby courtyard before him. The man seemed extremely out of place sitting outside a second rate café deep in the slums of Paris. His finely cut greatcoat and the satin trim on his waistcoat drew more than a few inquiring eyes. This fact did not appear to bother the man as he carefully put the cigarette back to his lips and took a deep puff.

Though his face appeared carefully composed, his eyes sharpened every time he pulled the gold plated pocket watch from his coat to examine the time. With a great sigh Andrew replaced the watch and slowly picked up his beaver skin top hat from the seat next to him. It was at that moment his dark eyes alighted on a short, stocky man running pell-mell down the street toward the café.

As the man came puffing to a stop before him, Andrew carefully set his hat back down, a slight frown darkening his handsome features. "You are late," he said simply, allowing those three words to carry enough weight to make the sweating man nervously shift from foot to foot.

"Sorry, monsieur. My investigation took much longer than I had anticipated. I didn't think that…"

"I do not pay you to think," Andrew interrupted, stubbing out his cigarette with one smooth motion. "I pay you to find me information."

"Yes, monsieur," the man stuttered, straightening his tattered coat in an anxious gesture. "And I have come by a great deal of information. Though it was very difficult to collect. Yes, very difficult! I shall require a bit more than we discussed."

Making a small sucking sound as Andrew ran his tongue thoughtfully over his teeth the black haired man smiled slightly. "If the information is worth it, I may consider raising your fee."

Brightening instantly, the ragged man sat down in a nearby chair. Andrew delicately raised a handkerchief to cover his nose as the poor man's body odor drifted across the table. "You will be very pleased!"

"Yes, yes stop blathering and get on with it!"

"I asked a great many people left at the opera about that man you wanted me to, Erik. Here is what is interesting. No one knew of any man by that name."

"What!" Andrew asked dangerously, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"Not to fear! I merely had to dig further to get to the good stuff!" With a stiff nod from Andrew, the man continued on in a hushed tone, relating all he had discovered about the opera in its last months of operation. As the explanation continued, a light lit the darkness of Andrew's eyes with an elated glow.

"Do you know what this means?" he inquired softly.

When the other man could only shake his head in confusion, Andrew smiled widely. "Finally I know how to get rid of him."


	29. A Phantom's Anger

**Here you go my loyal readers. Chapter 29 is ready for your perusal! Thank you again to all my reviewers. I always love to hear from all of you. And once again a huge thanks to my beta Juliana. Her suggestions have been a huge help! Other than that I don't have much to add. Enjoy!**

Chapter 29: A Phantom's Anger

Erik sat mutely in the hay loft of the small barn behind the Donovan cottage, his back propped against a rather large pile of sweet smelling hay, one hand raised to rub disbelieving over the brooding frown marring his strained features. Opening his eyes, the man dully studied the eddies of dust swirling through the sun-streaked air just to the left of where he hunched. Slowly he raised his head, holding out one hand so that the very tips of his fingers grazed the nearest bar of golden light, his movement sending up new riots of dancing dust particles into the air. With fingers outstretched, Erik turned his hand over in the sunlight, intently watching the changing hues of his skin as shadows highlighted the creases over his knuckles and a small scar on his thumb. Slowly, with an intensity the man himself didn't seem to notice, he closed his fingers about the almost substantial bar of light. As his fingers passed through rather than grabbing hold of something solid, a dark, boiling whirlwind kicked up behind his wide staring eyes.

With a growl Erik dropped his hand, pounding the fist into the wooden planks of the floor. _Amazing really, how so much of my life can be summed up with that one motion. Me reaching out for something light and wonderful only to find that my fingers slip right through. _

He had spent a full twenty-four hours hidden like a coward in the rafters of the blasted barn, but he could not, despite being fearless in most areas, push himself to face Brielle just yet. The task was simply beyond the furthest reaches of his courage. How in hell was he supposed to look her in the eye and explain the reasoning behind his boorish actions, particularly when he could not even sort out the reason for himself?

Punishing the floor once again with a vicious punch, Erik only distantly registered the pain that laced up his knuckles at the blow. One of Brielle's doe-eyed cows lowed mournfully beneath him as his thrashing startled it out of a light doze.

Raising his slightly bruised hand back up to his face Erik returned to rubbing obsessively over his brow, attempting to push out the darkness of his thoughts with every circle of his fingers. _Why is it that I am constantly ruining everything I touch? Even the things I care about I destroy eventually. I should not have stayed here for so long. I should have known I would do something like this, attacking a young girl like an animal on the kitchen floor. _

Biting his lip at the embarrassing physical response that mere memories evoked, Erik lowered his face even more. That was the worst part of the entire situation. There was a part of him that had reveled in rolling across Brielle's kitchen floor with her securely caught up in his arms, that still did not repent the atrocious liberties he had taken. No, far from feeling regret, that section of his mind actually longed to take advantage of her again. He had known she was feeling tired and vulnerable, but instead of respecting that he had exploited it to pursue his own gratification. _I truly am a beast. _It was funny really, the very thing that people had been telling him his whole life had turned out to be true.

The fact that he seemed to recall Brielle responding to his touch did not alleviate the guilt weighing in his heart. Erik chalked that bit of his memory up to wishful thinking. He must have deluded himself somehow to remember her touch so clearly, to remember her tugging him closer, and to remember her eyes sliding shut in ecstasy.

Shaking slightly as his mind replayed these deceiving images before his eyes, Erik raised one hand and slowly pulled his mask from his face. He shuddered as the warm dusty air brushed softly over the newly exposed right side of his face, the pleasant tingling of the air touching the over-sensitive skin bringing his wandering thoughts back into focus. With a sigh, he laid his hand over the deformed half of his face, his fingers splaying out to encompass the very thing that had both defined and ruined his life.

Even without a mirror, with only his fingers guiding the way, Erik slowly traced his hand over every mismatched ridge and sunken crevice of the horror that was his face. The image which blossomed to life within his mind was nothing new to him; the disgusting, corpse-like visage had long since been burned permanently into every corner of his psyche. Yet despite the familiarity of what he felt, Erik could not help but cringe away from that part of himself which he hated above all others.

Dropping his hand quickly from his face, Erik turned to retrieve his mask from where it had disappeared into the hay. A loud empty growl issued from his stomach, making him pause in his search to glare down at his offending abdomen. _Damn, I'll have to go back sometime. Maybe I can wait until it is dark out to grab something to eat. _Startled by this thought Erik laughed darkly. _Sometimes I amaze myself with the stupidity which pours out of my head. What a coward I have become that I cannot even walk through the front door and face that woman like a man. _

Distantly, the sound of the barn door banging open against the wall brought his eyes darting up and away from the hay. A flash of pride blazed across his face at the thought that he hadn't heard the hinges squeal to announce the new arrival; two weeks ago he had thoroughly oiled the old hardware into silence. Erik had not gloated for long when the smell of freshly baked bread wafted up to the rafters, catching his attention and for a moment distracting him completely from his train of thought.

"Erik?" Brielle's voice called out loudly in the relative quiet of the barn. "Erik, I know you are in here."

Staying perfectly still the man in question listened intently, hoping perhaps she would go away if not encouraged by a reply. His pulse instantly accelerated into a panicked pounding within his chest as the sound of her approaching footsteps echoed up from the barn floor. When the ladder leading up to his hiding place gave a slight jerk Erik started, slightly annoyed at her stubbornness. _Here it comes…_ he thought, with dread rolling sickeningly about his stomach. _She is going to ask that I leave. Finally I stepped too far. I should not have stayed so long. _

The top of Brielle's dove white hair appeared over the edge of the hay loft as the woman struggled up the ladder in her bulky skirts. One of her highly polished wooden combs caught a bar of light, glimmering darkly against the stark brightness of her hair. An odd sense of warmth blossomed within his chest at the sight of her oddly colored locks, quelling for a moment the panic churning within him. Despite himself he was glad to see her, even if it would prove to be their last meeting. _God I am a fool…_

Just before the woman's eyes appeared from below Erik remembered with stark terror that he did not have his mask on, it still lay somewhere in the hay. Only able to turn his face to the side before the rest of her head appeared, Erik barely even had time to clamp a hand firmly over the horror of his deformity. With his heart beating painfully against the front of his ribcage, he watched with bated breath as Brielle struggled up the ladder.

Irritated, he noticed she wasn't even looking his way, but was focused intently on where her feet were stepping. Taking the opportunity of her distraction, Erik used his free hand to shuffle about in the hay next to where he sat, searching with growing panic for his wayward mask.

The sound of his frantic search drawing her attention, Brielle finally glanced his way, a shy smile curling the corners of her lips. "I knew I would find you here," she stated matter-of-factly as she heaved a wicker basket up onto the landing, though she hesitated on the ladder. "I brought you something to eat. By now you must be terribly hungry." Noticing his odd behavior, Brielle's brow drew down slightly. "Whatever are you doing?"

"None of your business," he snapped automatically, the little defensive demon in his mouth spouting venom before he could think better of it. A silence stretched taut between them then like a string of barbed wire pulled between two posts.

Tapping her fingers nervously against the top ladder rung, Brielle looked for once as if she were at a loss for words. _And no wonder, the poor girl bravely comes to check on the wellbeing of her attacker and I foolishly snap at her._ Sighing, Erik paused in his search; though he did not turn his face towards her, he quickly glanced her way. "I am sorry. I didn't mean that…I was just looking for…well I cannot find my…" He stopped there, the quiet understanding he saw on her face bringing him up short. Somehow, under the gaze of those wonderful clear eyes he felt very childish scraping around in the hay for his mask.

With a quick nod, Brielle came up the last few steps and clamored onto the hay loft landing, her skirts catching on a nail and sending her face first into the hay. "Blast these damned skirts!" she hissed, giving the offending material a jerk.

Despite the seriousness of the situation Erik couldn't help but smile, having long since learned to laugh at this woman's odd use of vulgarities rather than cringe. "You should not be climbing up ladders; you will break your neck."

Huffing, Brielle picked a piece of hay from her blouse. "It is not a habit I enjoy, I assure you. However, the need that I do so arose so here I am," she said simply as she climbed to her feet, shaking out her skirts.

Now finding that it was he without a thing to say, Erik could only stare across the few feet that lay between them in awkward silence. He knew he should immediately apologize to her for his actions the previous day, but sitting there without his mask and covered in hay as he was, Erik felt more vulnerable just then than he had at any other moment in his life. The thought that she would now be forced to throw him out resurfaced in his mind, momentarily blocking out even his obsessive search for his mask.

With an odd half-smile Brielle slowly bent down and plucked something from the hay. Only as she brushed the thing clean did Erik notice she was now holding his mask in both of her hands. A brief hair-raising moment passed when he was certain she would not be giving it back to him, but even as this thought crossed his mind the mutiny he had thought he had seen in her face flickered away. Without a word, Brielle handed the dusty mask to him, their fingers brushing fleetingly in the exchange.

Clearing her throat, Brielle turned her face from him as he slipped the mask back into place. "I brought you some food in case you wish to extend your stay out here; however…"

"Brielle," he burst out suddenly, interrupting her in mid-sentence. "I know it would be too much to ask for you to forgive my boorish behavior, for I know I have betrayed all bounds of the friendship you have shown me over the last few months. I will save you from the painful task of asking me to leave and will simply be on my way as soon as it is possible."

"Are you that eager to leave Erik?" she asked quietly.

"Well I only assumed that…well…" _Why isn't she agreeing that I should go? Shouldn't she be weeping now over what I did…or at least yelling? _

"What I was going to say before you stopped me was that I had hoped you would consider returning to the house. Aria has been asking for you and I…well honestly I have been acting very childish. I let you stew out here for a day before I could work up the courage to come out and face you. I was willing to let you believe you had done something wrong so that I could put off embarrassing myself."

"What are you talking about?"

Spinning her wedding ring about her finger nervously, she gazed down at her feet. "Erik, you only reacted as any man would have and I deliberately antagonized you because fighting with you was the only thing I could think of to forestall madness. Over the course of your stay here it is a fact that we have developed a friendly liking for each other. We are both, I daresay, rather lonely people…perhaps that just got the better of us."

Flabbergasted, Erik stared up at Brielle, unable to comprehend what she was saying to him. She wasn't angry. She wasn't hurt. If anything the blasted woman was acting abashed over her own behavior rather than paying any heed to his. _Could it be that my memory wasn't completely faulty? Did she actually return my embrace? _a little voice whispered in the back of his head.

"I don't think I will ever understand you," Erik murmured. "You act like nothing happened."

"Now why in the world would I let my dearest friend torment himself just because of a kiss?" she asked quietly, her voice thickening slightly toward the end. "And you have been tormenting yourself, no doubt."

"And how is it that you know…"

"You forget that I know you Erik. I have learned how you think." A smile brightened her features as she glanced at his face. "You always look so surprised when I say something like that." Bending down, she picked up the basket from where it sat near the edge of the hayloft. "So should I leave this here, or will you be coming back to the house?"

"Brielle I don't trust myself anymore. I don't think…"

Sighing, Brielle scuffed one foot against the floorboards, shooting him a pointed look from under her snowy lashes. "It should be more than enough that I trust you."

Feeling reckless in the face of such astonishing faith, Erik opened his mouth before he could think better of it, somehow wishing to rattle the foundations of the conviction on which she so solidly stood. "And what if I told you that you only know a part of who I am? What if I were truly someone terrible deep down? Even now I could be using your kindness to…"

Erik's self-deprecating rant came to a sudden halt when Brielle turned away from him and started back down the ladder. Climbing to his feet, irritated by her seeming disinterest, he followed her to the edge of the hay loft.

"Excuse me!"

Glancing up the rungs at him Brielle smiled. "Yes?" she asked as she hopped down to the ground.

"I was trying to ask you something important, you blasted woman!"

Raising a hand to her ear she merely stared up at him before shrugging her shoulders. "I am sorry. What?"

"Come back up here."

"Didn't you just say a few minutes ago I shouldn't be climbing up ladders? You come down here," she shouted back, a smugness glittering blatantly in her expression.

Throwing up his hands in utter annoyance, Erik growled several inventive curses under his breath. With one easy motion the man swung onto the ladder, descending with remarkable agility. Once on the ground he turned to resume his character assassination, only to notice that Brielle no longer stood where she had been moments ago. Looking around with growing frustration, Erik caught sight of the woman's skirts disappearing out the barn door.

Feeling the need to pull his hair out all of a sudden, Erik shook his head in disbelief. She had never acted like this before, like she was not very interested in what he had to say - it was dumbfounding. Though he had been trying to rouse her pique only moments ago, her lackadaisical attitude now cut his pride slightly. He hardly knew what to think. _How dare she walk away while I was speaking to her? Waspish, irritating woman! Probably expects me to follow her…or perhaps she doesn't care._

Brushing hay off his coat and pants, Erik took an uncertain step forward before setting off in an all out run after Brielle's retreating figure. He caught up to her easily as she delicately picked her way across the yard. Taking hold of one of her arms he spun her around to face him, suddenly angrier at her than at himself.

Her smiling face was not something he had expected. Feeling as if he had been tricked somehow, Erik let go of her arm hastily. "What are you grinning at?"

"Am I grinning?" she asked coyly.

"What is wrong with you? I was trying to ask you something and you responded with terrible rudeness."

Turning her face away from him, Brielle looked off down the road with a shrug. "It was merely a means to an end," she stated mysteriously.

"What end? What are you talking about?"

"It got you out of the barn didn't it?" she replied happily as she turned and practically skipped off towards the house.

Left to stand alone in the middle of the yard, Erik could only blink after Brielle's cavorting figure. Distantly he knew he should be angry with her covert operations, but oddly enough he found a smile growing across his face. _She wasn't lying when she said she knew how I thought. Blast her; she knew I would come out after her. _This realization was the tiniest bit frightening, for though she evidently knew him, Brielle was a complete mystery to Erik. _I suppose all is truly forgiven. Or she wouldn't have bothered. _His heart settled into an easy, contented rhythm.

Though he wouldn't admit it, he was utterly relieved he still had a home where he was welcome. Chuckling softly, he closed his eyes. _Funny, I have never really had a home before…_

Still shaking his head in disbelief, Erik started forward. Upon reaching the front door he carefully removed his boots. As he set his muddy footwear to the side, he caught sight of a fresh bouquet of hothouse flowers sitting ostentatiously on a nearby table top. The smile which Brielle's audacity had inspired withered into a scowl, one corner of his lip curling back in a sneer. _Andrew has been here_.

Straightening, Erik stalked off down the hall, looking for Brielle as he went. Hearing a floorboard creak from the library he made a sharp turn into the room; however, upon entering he found no one within. With a sigh, his irritation at Andrew's recent presence in the house dimming, Erik walked over to the window and rested his forehead against the glass. _I shouldn't let that man get under my skin. If he comes about or not,_ _it is not any of my concern. It should be beneath my notice. Besides, Brielle is irritating enough on her own. _

Happy with this conclusion, Erik pulled back from the window and turned to vacate the room. As he passed Brielle's correspondence desk, a sheaf of paper dislodged and scattered across the floor. With a growl, the man bent down to gather up the spilled pile. It did not come as a shock when he picked up several envelopes addressed to Brielle from Andrew. Rolling his eyes smugly, Erik threw the opened letters back up onto the desk. _Oh, too bad she has been too busy lately to make a reply,_ he thought with satisfaction.

Pulling the rest of the opened correspondences toward him into a rough pile, Erik stood and placed the mound unceremoniously onto the table top. He was just about to turn away from the mess he had made when something odd caught his attention. An unfinished letter in Brielle's lovely handwriting sat crumpled on top of the pile, in plain view. What was strange about this missive was the heading.

"_Dear Darling_," it read, drawing Erik's eyes to continue scanning the letter. "_Thank you for the wonderful flowers you brought this morning. The gift was a welcome distraction from the frustration which seems to constantly fill my days now. Though I had hoped you could have stayed longer. Conner has once again left for a few days to honor a previous business engagement and his absence has left me terribly lonely. Of course, I enjoy Erik's company, but I do occasionally get tired of his oddities. Though I would never say it out loud, his mask does create a great many questions. Is it terrible of me that I constantly wonder what he hides under it? Do come to visit again soon, I have missed you terribly…." _

Stunned by the words floating before his eyes, Erik could only stare at the letter until he could no longer focus upon the letters. Blinking rapidly, the man set the seemingly innocent piece of paper back onto the desk. _That cannot be correct…there has been a mistake, _he thought stubbornly, unwilling to release the warmth of hope still beating in his heart. Unbidden a sneaking whisper purred darkly in his ear, _She did hesitate giving my mask back. Is her curiousity getting the better of her? _Shaking his head he pushed these thoughts aside. _No that cannot be correct, this is just a mistake…that isn't even her writing. I was mistaken. _

Turning slowly, as if in a trance, Erik walked stiffly to the library door. _I was mistaken…_he continued to repeat in his head like a wish. _Mistaken…_but underneath the silken web of his thoughts, a black cloud billowed up within him, setting his innards aflame with an anger he had not felt since coming to this house. Shaken, Erik brutally tamped down the Phantom's fury he felt building inside.

_It was a mistake. I'll prove it._


	30. Obsession

**Hello everyone. Here is the newest chapter for your enjoyment. I am trying out a new perspective in this one so I hope it reveals a few enlightening details. **

**Thanks to my Beta Juliana. As always she has worked wonders on my chapter with both her grammatical skills and her suggestions. She really makes my job ten times easier. Hurray for Juliana! Oh and once again thanks to my faithful reviewers. I cherish every single one of your reviews! **

Chapter 30: Obsession

Andrew's heart stuttered uncharacteristically within his chest when the brass doorknob of the library door turned just as he was leaving the room. With a quick sideways step he slunk behind the door as it was thrown open, catching it carefully with one hand before it cracked him in the nose. Turning his face to the side, he smiled darkly as a series of stalking footsteps reached his ears; it was exactly what he had hoped to hear, though he had not expected Erik's return until a few minutes later. It was a miscalculation he would not repeat again.

Waiting patiently in complete silence, Andrew's smile widened further until his perfectly straight teeth flashed as he heard the creak of the desk followed by the rustling of paper as it fell to the floor. The light of triumph infused the blackness of his eyes, making them glitter dully for a moment as he heard a deep startled intake of breath, followed by the soft crinkling of thick stationary. Knowing exactly what the other occupant of the room was bound to see, Andrew bit his bottom lip to prevent the peal of laughter building up in his throat from escaping. _"Dear Darling…"_

A brief silence followed causing Andrew to tilt his head further to the side, straining to pick up even the slightest sound of dismay. When none came the smug, maniacal grin faded slightly, his eyes narrowing into dark slits. Vengeance was not nearly as satisfying if there wasn't any immediate reaction.

The floorboards vibrated as Erik turned swiftly and beat a straight path across the library and out the door. Slowly, as the other man's footsteps echoed further down the hallway, Andrew slid his hand along the door. His careful snake-like movement swung the door shut with a soft click.

Stepping away from the doorway Andrew strolled casually across the room, coming to a stop just in front of Brielle's correspondence table. Reaching out, he lightly took hold of the top page between two fingers. Reading the delicately written words over once more, he commended himself on the masterful duplication of Brielle's handwriting. _Despite her questionable upbringing she always did have a lovely hand, _he thought briefly before carefully folding the letter and tucking it into his vest pocket.

But it had not been her writing skills which first drew him to her. If anything it was her beautiful almond shaped eyes which first caught his attention. Soft, misty gray, and oddly knowing, they had shone like beacons across the crowded ballroom after an entirely forgettable concert by her brother; being tone deaf, all Andrew had heard was unvarying noise.

At the time she had been barely fifteen and utterly ravishing, despite the plain cut of her gown. In fact, it was the very awkward shyness of her attire and manner that had prompted him to cross the room towards the girl, along with the fact that she was a poor Irish orphan. There was something about the way she clung to the walls and refused all dance requests with an apologetic smile which ignited a burning sense of competition in his chest. Her youth and vulnerability was provocative, exciting, utterly intoxicating.

He had wanted that sweetness for himself…wanted to take it, consume it to fill the vast echoing chasm within his own soul.

He was certain then that she would be his, simply because all his life Andrew had never been denied anything. He was the oldest son of a wealthy English lord and he had become accustomed to the comforts that such a position entailed. For this reason he was certain he could melt the ice around the Irish maiden's heart - because it was what he wanted. It came as shock then that when Andrew tapped Brielle's shoulder to smoothly ask for a dance she accidentally upended the champagne he had in his hand all over his very expensive gold brocade vest. The situation had proven so funny that he couldn't help but invite her and her brother to his brother's birthday celebration later that week.

What he had not been expecting was that his blasted ugly brother would actually open his mouth and steal away Brielle out from under his nose. _Damn him, damn him. The freak always ruined everything for me. _A sneer crossed the man's face as he stood glaring down at the mussed pile of letters in the library, one of his hands slowly closing about a fistful of paper in rage. He knew he should quickly make his way out of the room, but somehow thoughts of his brother always sent shivers of fury itching down his back, his body shaking slightly with the tremors.

John had always had this effect on him. Even when they were children there had been a constant rivalry between them. On one memorable occasion, his tenth birthday to be exact, Andrew had received a Shetland pony which greatly pleased him, for it had been far more expensive than anything John had ever received. He had ridden that wonderful animal every day that summer, laughing whenever his brother begged for a ride. But on John's next birthday, when he had gotten a set of antique soldier dolls, all of Andrew's interest in his own gift faded. John's unbridled delight with such a simple present infuriated Andrew beyond childish temper. He sold that pony without a thought when he could no longer torment his brother with its presence. After that year he hated John with a passion that nothing else in his life had ever evoked.

He hated his brother for his satisfaction with life, for his goodness, and for his blasted good humor - three things Andrew was never able to cultivate. _Feh, Saint John and his never-ending good fortune. _Even though he was the oldest it was John who held their father's heart. Andrew's unchildlike shrewdness and calculating mind turned their father from him and for a long time he agonized over this very real fact. Soon the favor Lord Donovan bestowed on his youngest became so marked that there had even been rumors he would name John heir to the title. Andrew did not receive this news very well.

And then the fire happened just a few months after John's seventh birthday. The family and servants made it out onto the lawn just as the flames began bursting through the window panes, the glass tinkling to the ground a strange backdrop to the hissing of the inferno. It was only then that they realized John had not been there with them. With the smoke clouding his lungs and soot caked to his skin, Andrew had watched as one of the fire brigade ran back into the burning building, only to come stumbling out the front door with a ragged blanket clutched to his chest a few minutes later. Unrecognizable within that mound of blackened rags, John had lain there gasping for every breath, his tiny face a mass of blisters and peeling skin.

That night Andrew and his mother sat by John's bedside at the hospital, counting each breath he took while Lord Donovan paced a hole into the floor outside. The outlook was not good for the child; all the doctors were certain he would die within the week.

Everyone said it was a miracle he hadn't died right off. Evidently the fire had started in his room when a candle tipped over. But despite this grim prediction Andrew had spent that entire week at his brother's side, proving to those dim witted fools he too could be just as selfless and noble as 'Saint' John. But even this act was not properly recognized; no one even noticed.

To the surprise of all, John did live. _At least I learned early on that you cannot believe a word doctors say, the quacks._

To this day, Andrew couldn't look at a lit match without thinking of that day. A smile always stole across his pale face at the first stinging whiff of struck sulfur, or the metallic click of a lighter. It was amazing that a thing so tame and lovely within a fireplace could so quickly take on a life of its own, consuming an entire mansion within an hour. Who would have thought fire could spread faster than spilt milk?

After the fire, when his brother's face looked more like melted candle wax than skin, Lord Donovan senior had only further shown his devotion to his youngest son rather than be repelled by him. Even though there were no more questions about Andrew's inheritance, his father's constant disinterest was infuriating. It was enough to drive anyone into madness, or obsession.

_But I was stronger than that. I persevered despite fate's fancy working against me at every turn. With a cool head I made a name for myself and tripled the family's holdings. It was because of me the name Donovan has the respect it does today. _Smiling once again, Andrew turned from Brielle's desk and curtly walked across the floor.

For years, despite his own success, the loving attention John received ate at him, but no matter what Andrew did nothing was able to break that impossible bond between father and son. That is until, much to everyone's shock and their father's horror, John announced his wish to marry a young Irish girl. Who would have guessed that Brielle herself would be the key to finally destroying their father's love for his youngest son? When John married her, Lord Donovan cut him off from all family funds.

It was only Andrew's suggestion of a career in the army which saved the newlyweds from bankruptcy. Being an affable man, and despite his scarring, John made it to major before a bullet blew a neat coin-sized hole through his forehead. Funny things, bullets, just a few ounces of lead and yet they have the power to smash through bone and flesh in the blink of an eye. Simple, elegant, useful.

Andrew paused at the library door, his hand coming to rest against the wall, as John's pale face flashed before his eyes. _He looked so surprised…_

Shaking off the sudden wave of unease, Andrew swiped a hand shakily across his face. _Forget about that…just forget about his ugly face and his damned stupidity. I have too much to set right to be wasting my time thinking about John. What is done is done. What I need to think about right now is the newest freak show barging in on my plans. _With the thought, all anxiety of a moment ago fled before a fresh wave of chilly anger. _Feh, and what are the odds he had to be another ugly bastard? _

_Perhaps that is why I took an instant dislike to that Erik fellow, _he mused, suddenly realizing what should have been obvious. Until that very moment he had never dwelt upon why it was exactly he had felt an almost instant hatred for the masked man. Erik reminded him far too much of his brother, with his obviously hidden deformity, dark hair, and silent demeanor. The similarities were uncanny.

It was the way Brielle looked at the man, however, which really fused his loathing for the 'tutor.' After the accident out on the pond, when he saw how serious her affection for Erik was becoming, that was when Andrew knew he had to resort to all-out warfare. He hired that disgusting fool in Paris to dig up information, all of which he found extremely interesting. Though the poor wretch hadn't had the brains to put two and two together, Andrew was no fool. He saw through the exaggerations and the muddled gossip to the true story beneath. _It isn't every day one finds that there is a fugitive living under the same roof as one's prospective fiancé. _Normally he would have simply gone to the police again with this new little tidbit; however, he was certain that if he did Brielle would not have reacted in an acceptable manner. Her friendship with the masked man was becoming too strong.

First, he knew he had to chip away at the unfathomable relationship which apparently had built between them. _Plus it is more fun this way,_ he thought with a smirk.

Pulling open the library door Andrew strolled out into the hallway, his eyes beetle black and glittering in the afternoon sunlight. Straightening his waistcoat and checking his pocket where the letter rested, he folded his hands casually behind his back as he followed his ears to the dining room, where the raised voices were coming from. Pausing outside the doorway he cocked his head in delight at the strain he heard within every word spoken within.

Leaning his head just far enough to the side to sneak a peak through the door without being seen, Andrew observed the situation within. Brielle and that blasted tutor were standing facing each other in the middle of the room, tension permeating the air between them. Though her hair was strewn with several pieces of straw, Andrew couldn't help but smile at how pretty Brielle looked today. _She always did look beautiful when she was angry._

"Erik, what in the world are you talking about! And why were you going through my personal correspondence anyway?"

"It was an accident, as I already stated! You didn't answer my question Brielle."

"What do you want me to say?" she sighed.

"I want you to tell me the truth," came the curt reply, accusation sneaking into the man's tone.

"Truly I am, Erik. I don't know what you are talking about."

Knocking on the door jamb lightly Andrew stepped over the threshold, his face set in a careful expression of concern though his insides were tingling with glee. "I don't mean to interrupt…" he began, turning his eyes apologetically to the ground, "but I thought I should tell you my cook has finished dinner."

At Andrew's entrance, Erik snapped his head to the left to stare at the man in fuming silence. After a few moments his startling blues eyes narrowed behind the mask, gleaming brightly across the room, a promise of violence radiating from his stance. "What are _you_ doing here?" Erik growled.

"Erik please, Andrew has offered a few members of his staff to assist me while Aria is ill," Brielle began imploringly, raising one of her hands to rest upon Erik's upper arm. Alarm instantly flickered across the blue eyed man's face at that news.

Shrugging off her touch the masked man advanced quickly across the room, his movements predatory and light. "No, I know why you are here. It must have been you who planted that letter."

At the incendiary tone of Erik's voice Brielle stepped between the two men, her expression quickly darkening in exhausted anger. "You will not say such things!" she stated shakily, jabbing a finger in Erik's direction. "I have endured most of your tempers and brooding silences with great patience but I will not allow you to turn your snake-like tongue upon Andrew when he has been nothing but helpful!"

Raising a hand to her mouth, as if surprised by the words pouring from her mouth, Brielle turned her eyes to the ground. "You must have simply been mistaken." Then lowering her voice to a murmur she continued, "Forget about it Erik. I don't know what you read but you were mistaken. You trust me don't you?"

A tense silence followed as Erik stared fixedly over her head at Andrew. Keeping a lightly confused expression firmly in place Andrew met that stare with collected calm. Finally, with a shrug, Erik lowered his gaze to Brielle's face his expression cooling reluctantly. "Yes, I do trust you. You know that," he stated softly, his brows coming together into a dark frown.

Andrew couldn't stop the glare which slowly narrowed his eyes as he watched the other man's face soften and lose its icy edge. Heaving a sigh he rolled his eyes to the side, unable to watch the evidence of Brielle and Erik's touching relationship without vomiting. He could feel the dark fury slowly work its way through his body, the boiling hatred of the other man sharpening the blackness of his eyes. When Erik raised his eyes from Brielle's lovely face to his, Andrew gave him a wolf-like smile, nothing behind it but teeth.

"But I do not trust _him_," Erik growled then, his body tensing as the anger once again instated itself in his features. "Come with me, I will show you that he is up to something."

Taking Brielle's hand then Erik stalked across the room and past Andrew, dragging the white haired woman after him. Practically running to keep up with the masked man's long rangy strides, Brielle called to him to slow down as they made their way down the hall. Following at a safe distance, Andrew coolly came up behind the couple just as they made it to the desk. With a secret smile the young lord waited for the hilarity to continue.

Releasing Brielle's hand Erik pointed at the pile of mussed parchment, his eyes searching the pile for the offending letter. "Here, it is right here," he began, confusion slowly creasing his brow when he could not immediately find the letter. "Wait one moment. It must have gotten covered," he said, a slight tremor of unease sneaking into his tone as he picked up a pile of paper, searching through it with growing alarm.

"I don't understand. I was sure I left it right here," he murmured in quiet disbelief, pushing letters aside as he frantically searched the desk.

Stepping into the room further, Andrew cocked his head to one side watching the spectacle quietly. "Perhaps Brielle was correct. You must have been mistaken, since obviously whatever you are looking for is not there." Turning his attention to Brielle he continued. "Perhaps I should call upon my personal physician as well."

"You have already been more than enough help Andrew. I have been seeing to Aria's care. I do not think it is necessary to call upon…"

Interrupting her Andrew shook his head, allowing his dark eyes to flicker back to Erik where the man stood running frustrated hands through his hair. "I did not mean for him to look over the child," he said, continuing to pointedly stare across the room at Erik.

Startled by his suggestion, Brielle stood in silence for several moments, doubt beginning to cloud her expression when she too turned her gaze to Erik.

Seeing the look on both their faces, Erik straightened suddenly and stood poised as if on the verge of flight. "I am not crazy. I know what I saw…I simply don't understand why…" Slowly raising his eyes to Andrew's, Erik clenched his jaw in raw hatred as shocked understanding tightened his lips into a thin white line.

"No one is saying you are crazy, sir, simply that you might be ill as well. You did spend several minutes in the freezing water and it wouldn't be a shock if you have developed a fever as…"

Without a word Erik sprang across the room, grabbing Andrew by the throat and throwing him up against the wall. Inches from his face, Erik gazed down at him with a fury which seemed to boarder on madness. All of a sudden, as the fingers about his neck tightened, Andrew though perhaps he had made another grave miscalculation. As Brielle screeched from alarm in the background Andrew raised his hands to his throat, prying at the vise-like grip there.

"You did something with it. I can see it now. For a few moments you actually had me wondering if I hadn't imagined the whole thing. Where did you put it, you damned bastard!" When Andrew merely stared up at him in silence, Erik banged the man's head against the wall once again. "TELL ME!"

Blinking away the stars floating across his vision, Andrew struggled to reply. "I don't know…what you are….talking about," he croaked.

"Stop it Erik! What are you doing! Stop it!" Brielle shouted, as she ran forward and threw her arms around Erik's upper arm, trying to pull the men apart. "You'll strangle him! Let him go!"

Several ragged breaths passed through Erik's clenched teeth before he suddenly released Andrew's throat and took a step back. Slumping slightly and gasping for breath, the young lord struggled to remain on his feet. Blackness threatened the edges of his vision as Andrew sucked in several sweet draughts of air.

Straightening with difficulty, the black eyed man rubbed carefully at the red welts rising around his throat. "You are a menace sir," he accused.

"And you are a double talking viper!" Erik retorted loudly.

"Erik, what is wrong with you!" Brielle demanded, throwing her hands into the air in wild agitation. Without answering Erik shook his head and straightened his shirt with several sharp violent jerks.

As the masked man gathered his composure with obvious effort, Brielle began to spin her wedding ring about her finger. Slowly Erik turned his gaze to her, his eyes over bright with barely concealed hurt. "You don't believe me then," he stated simply.

Before she could answer, Erik pushed past her and headed toward the door. "Erik wait…"

Spinning around in the doorway Erik's dark gaze momentarily flickered between the two people in the room, accusation and temper tightening his features. "You don't believe me!" he bellowed, before turning and stomping down the hall.

After a short pause of stunned silence Brielle raised a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes tiredly. Her shoulders began to shake as she quietly gave into a few frustrated sobs. Stepping forward, Andrew came up behind her and laid a comforting hand upon her back.

"Don't cry Brielle. I am sure everything will work out. Every friendship has a few rough spots, right?" he said gently, even as he smiled wickedly at the doorway.

"I am sorry Andrew," she sniffled into her hands. "I don't know what has gotten into him. I have never seen him act so poorly."

Putting his arm triumphantly about her shoulders, Andrew tenderly brushed a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. "Don't worry. Everyone has been terribly stressed these past few days. What with Arianna's fever..." As Brielle turned her tear streaked face up to his, Andrew smiled reassuringly down at her, finally feeling as if his life was not a waste with her in his arms. "Everything will be fine. No more tears now, alright?"

Nodding, Brielle shakily returned his smile. "I am glad you are here today Andrew," she murmured, a flicker of surprise passing over her features as if she only had just realized that fact.

Gently ushering her towards the door he patted her on the back. "Come, having a little bite to eat will make you feel better. Let him stew for awhile. A man's temper is best left alone when it is riled. And after dinner I would like to check in on Arianna before I have to leave." Allowing a heavy pause to develop, Andrew walked Brielle down the hallway towards the kitchen. "That is if you feel comfortable with being alone in the house…I could have a few of my people stay with you if you'd like."

"No there is no need…but I do appreciate your kindness. You have been the perfect gentleman - thank you for that."

Nodding in understanding Andrew remained silent, his dark eyes glittering smugly in the lamp light. _Soon, my dear, there will be a need. I am afraid Erik's temper is going to become increasingly worse. Frighteningly so…_he thought as laughter roared through his head.

_Soon, very soon._


	31. A Heart Twice Broken

**I must apologize to everyone for the lateness of this chapter. I misjudged the time I had to post it earlier this week before I went out of town. Likewise, I was also under the impression I would be able to use my cousin's computer to post the chapter. Unfortunately, for some reason their computer wouldn't let me post anything. Grr! So sorry again for the lateness. Oh and also sorry for the cliffhanger at the end of the chapter…tehe. **

**But anyway a big thank you to my beta Juliana. Her input really is appreciated. And once again thank you to all my reviewers! I love you guys!**

Chapter 31: A Heart Twice Broken

Erik sat brooding in silence slumped low in a chair within the library. Staring hotly at Brielle's desk, his thoughts were darkly temperamental. _That is what started this whole mess in the first place, that blasted letter, _he thought angrily as he trailed a finger along the outer edge of his mask. _And that was several days ago._

The surface of the desk was now tellingly clear of everything but a lonely steel-nibbed pen. Brielle had carefully stored away all forms of her personal correspondence the morning after Erik had nearly choked the life out of Andrew. _She doesn't want to run the risk of inciting my temper again._

At the time he had been so sure Andrew was behind the mystery letter; however, since that day a multitude of strange occurrences had continued to happen all over the house, whether the young lord was present or not. Little odds and ends went missing only to turn up in inopportune places, every instance usually punctuated by a boisterous argument between Brielle and himself.

One morning Brielle had asked him where her silver hairbrush was and became shockingly hysterical when he could only shrug his ignorance. Her father had given her the item, she had explained as she tore the house apart looking for the thing. When she found the blasted brush sitting casually on his dresser behind a pile of books, Erik could only stare in disbelief. He knew he hadn't taken the brush, but how to explain that fact to her without seeming either insane or a liar was beyond his skills.

Merely nodding her head at his muddled explanation, Brielle had clutched the precious object protectively to her chest. "I suppose you simply forgot you borrowed it," she had murmured, desperately trying to rationalize away the damning evidence against him, but once again suspicion darkened her features.

The doubt he saw weaving its way behind her eyes and into her very posture both enraged and hurt him deeply. Hadn't she often said he was her precious best friend? Shouldn't she trust him over the word of some pompous and conniving aristocratic bastard? Even though she was making a tenacious attempt at excusing the mysterious happenings in his favor, he would have to be a fool not to see that with each successive instance she was running out of logical explanations. He could feel their bonds of affection running like grains of sand between his fingers.

_She was lying to you._ An annoyingly familiar voice once again rose up in his mind, flickering through the endless black corridors of his memories and illuminating everything in his past which he had tried so hard over the last few months to forget. Betrayal, heartache, and dashed dreams continually rattled about his brain, making him paranoid and touchy, despite the fact that he _knew_ every single odd situation was carefully contrived.

That was the worst part - he _knew_ Andrew was somehow behind every disappearance and yet he could not catch the man or any of his servants in the act. The young lord was one of the canniest individuals Erik had run across in years. Andrew played perfectly the concerned brother-in-law even as he carefully shrouded the house in a veil of confusion. Never once did the man slip in that part, never once did the darkness of his coal black eyes reveal the plans which were no doubt within his head. Erik was nearly pulling his hair out in frustration when every one of his theories as to how Andrew was doing it turned out to be unfounded.

_My mind has touched the farthest regions of man's imagination, constantly reaching ever outward to embrace the unknown. There has never been any knowledge beyond my comprehension, no craft or art that lies beyond the mastery of my hand and yet I cannot discern how this man is steadily ruining my place in this household! _Growling as he fisted a hand over the armrest of his chair Erik stared off into space, going over and over every example of strangeness which had occurred over the last several days. Once again his mind was a blank, his concentration disrupted by the whispering doubts poisoning his own trust. _She was lying…just like Christine…_

Not being a man to take a sucker punch in the mouth without fighting back, Erik had slipped a rather potent laxative of his own creation into Andrew's food or drink twice in the past several days. The drug had made the young lord terribly ill for hours on end, shortening the man's visits until he no longer stayed for meals. Andrew was no fool; he no doubt had discovered Erik's trickery, which was why just that morning a vital change occurred in the maddening vanishings within the house. For two days Brielle had been the unknowing victim in the schemes about the house, but that had come to a rather abrupt end. This morning it had been Erik's turn to awake only to discover with sickening dread that certain pieces of his property were missing. Thinking on it now sent shivers through his body. He had no idea he was so capable of losing control so quickly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX Earlier that morning XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik opened his eyes slowly, blinking groggily against the warm yellow sunlight filtering through the curtains and into his room. For several long moments he lay on his side, watching that lovely light play out dancing patterns upon the carpet. In all the months of his residence in Brielle's house, he had still not gotten used to awaking with the sunlight on his face; it still shocked and delighted him every morning. Here the light was welcoming, safe even. It was an altogether different sun which illuminated him in this house than any other time in his life. Due to this distraction, it took him quite a long time to realize something was terribly wrong. _God I feel odd. _

The fact that he was laying on his right side was a given; however, after several moments it suddenly struck him that he felt the pillowcase against his cheek. Raising a hand to the right side of his face, Erik bolted upright in bed when his fingers brushed flesh rather than the smoothness of his mask. He didn't remember taking the mask off the night before or where he could have possibly put it.

The paralyzing panic which initially numbed his brain was instinctive, beaten into him in his early childhood by the merciless hand of his mother, teaching him to fear his own face, and fear life without covering it. Erik frantically threw blankets, pillows, and sheets onto the floor as he tore through the bed, searching for his mask as if he might happen upon it somewhere in the folds of linen. By the time he began to flip over the mattress, his senses refocused under the sickening haze of terror. _Think, think…it has to be somewhere in the room. I simply took it off and forgot where I put it._

Collecting his wits with difficulty Erik carefully looked about the room, keeping the dangerous animalistic panic within him from clouding his judgment with just a hair's breadth of control. As the minutes ticked by and the room's hiding places were exhaustively searched, he slowly came to realize the terrible truth. The mask was not in his room. With mounting horror, his eyes turned disbelieving to the door. He would have to venture out into the house without the safety of his mask, without the defenses that it provided. Something he had not endured since his childhood.

As he sat dumbly gazing at the door something in his brain clicked out of place, allowing all the stress of the last several days to overcome his good sense. The sneaking voice, which had led him unerringly through the hardest years of his life, rose up once again within him poisoning his thoughts and setting his heart to banging almost painfully within his chest. All his suspicion toward Andrew vanished within the echoes of that terrible cold whispering. The caustic venom of his mind settled instead upon the one figure in the house who, being female, represented nearly every betrayal and hurt of his life - Brielle. _She took it…she must have taken it. No one else was in the house yesterday._

His panic quickly morphed into anger, bundling Erik safely within its warmth, insulating him against the cruelties of the world, against the frivolities of its feminine occupants. And as the grip of a violent temper closed in about his brain he burst out of his bedroom, one hand to his face, the other sweeping wildly over end tables, knocking numerous knickknacks onto the floor for no other reason than to hear the crash. The need to break something coursed through his body as he prowled down the hall, tightening his jaw and sending tremors through his muscles.

Just as the violence within him reached intoxicating levels Brielle came rushing around the corner, her face pale with worry. As her gaze swept over him Erik clamped his other hand over his face as well, feeling exposed under her nervous scrutiny, his skin practically burning wherever her eyes touched him. For a split second he pictured her eyes joining the crush of a crowd closing in around him, staring in stark terror, staring at the devilish horror of his face. Erik's heart welled up against this misty vision, rebelling against the memories clouding his thoughts.

She spoke to him then, asking what was wrong, but in the state he had worked himself into he could not hear her words. Terrible accusations and insults flung out at Brielle, the words within his mind spewing out of his mouth in a torrent of verbal poison. Then rushing past the startled woman, Erik crashed down the hallway, howling continuously the vicious allegations spinning within his head. As he swept through each room of the house like a hurricane, her pattering footsteps followed on his heels. Her closeness and his desperation drew in around him, bringing the walls in too near, squeezing the very breath from his lungs. Entrapped by his own hysteria, Erik stumbled over an overturned chair and fell to his knees, his hands still clutching frantically at his face.

Unbidden visions of cold steel bars and the glitter of horrified eyes in the darkness of a ratty tent swam before his tightly shut eyes. Suddenly he no longer knelt upon Brielle's library floor but sat upon a matted pile of soiled straw. Erik practically felt the bite of the prickly stuff through the cloth of his pants, felt the shocked gasps and screams sweep over his bare face and resonate deep within his gut.

Distantly he heard a terrible wailing cutting through the air, blistering his eardrums with the heart rending pitch of the scream. Only when he sucked in a deep breath did he realize the sound was coming from his own vocal cords. Crouching low, Erik tucked his head up against his knees, his arms flung up over the back of his neck. He hid from the light then, hating it as much as he had reveled in it earlier that day.

Suddenly, just as he was sure he would go mad, a warm comforting darkness enveloped him, soothing the beast prowling about his memories. Within the blessed blackness the old tent, the cage in it and the little boy he had spent a lifetime trying to forget retreated back under the surface of his consciousness. A breathless, disorientating moment passed as he opened his eyes, blinking away the last of the ghosts haunting his mind. Calmed by the embrace of the darkness Erik's heart slowed its erratic pace, his breathing coming in less painful gasps.

As he came slowly back to the present, the sensation of a small hand rubbing the small of his back sent ripples of shock flickering up his spine. A lilting accented voice spoke softly in his ear, drowning out the insidious whispers of his own distrust. Confused, Erik raised his head slightly then, only to discover his entire body was covered with what appeared to be a set of green velveteen curtains. It was their protective shield which created the wonderful darkness shrouding him.

Ten or fifteen minutes must have passed as he pieced together the shattered shards of his awareness, the small hands smoothing over his back remaining shakily with him in the silence following his outburst. Reason had only just returned to him when he coldly ordered those tender hands, and their obvious owner, to leave him alone. Requesting, in that same chilly formality, for Brielle to please close the door on her way out of the room.

After a slight pause she left without a murmur of protest, her silent acquiescence strangely troubling, only to return moments later to drop something at his side. Erik raised the curtain up just enough to stare dumbly at his mask teetering inches in front of his face.

"I found this outside my door this morning," Brielle stated quietly before she turned and vacated the room in all hast. As he reached out to grasp the mask in one hand the doubt within his own heart throbbed to life once again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sitting comfortably now brewing over the morning's happenings, Erik could hardly believe his own actions. He closed his eyes in shame, thinking of the insults he was sure he had screamed in Brielle's face even as she was trying to calm him. Embarrassment warred with horror over the whole incident, making him doubt his own sanity over and over again. Apparently the ghost causing all the havoc within the household had found one of Erik's weaknesses.

A battle of wills was waging right under his nose, and Erik knew that he was losing.

Rubbing a finger against the hollow of his temple Erik took a deep breath. He had not dared to venture from the library all that day, choosing instead to stay safely holed up among the room's stacks of leather bound books. _How can I face her after the terrible things I said? There truly is no excuse for my actions. I panicked and punished her for all of the abuse of my childhood. She wouldn't have taken my blasted mask. In all my life she is the one person who hasn't even so much as asked about it. I am a moron. _

The sharp click of the door handle turning brought Erik's brooding gaze to the door with a moment of anxious anticipation. He was sure the confrontation which had been stewing all day long was about to boil over if Brielle had decided to check in on him. Much to his surprise it was not the lovely Madame Donovan on the threshold but rather Aria who stood wearily leaning against the door jamb, her little mouth sucking furiously on her pruned thumb.

"What are you doing up?" he inquired gently, a touch of emotional exhaustion roughening his voice.

Pulling her moist digit from her lips, Aria shrugged. "I am f-feeling better this m-m-morning," she stated simply, her large gray eyes moving over his form somberly.

"Your mother told me yesterday the fever had broken, but you still need your rest," he chided tiredly as concern creased his brow. "Is there something you need? Would you like me to call for your mother?"

With a shake of her little head Aria twirled a bit of her hair about one chubby finger. "N-No. I w-w-was looking for you. Why are you h-hiding in h-here?"

Not truly wanting to get into that discussion with a four year old, Erik hastily snatched up a book from the table to his left. "I was simply enjoying a good book," he lied. Aria stilled at his words and fixed him with a look so serious he had the sudden ridiculous urge to laugh. _She looks frighteningly like Brielle with that softly disapproving expression on her face._

Sticking her thumb firmly back into her mouth, Aria dislodged herself from the door frame and pattered loudly across the room until she stood just shy of a foot from his right knee. "L-Liar," she mumbled around her thumb as she watched him from under her dark lashes. "You are h-hiding from M-M-Momma."

Leaning his head back against the headrest in defeat, Erik gazed imploringly up at the ceiling. _Good luck to any man trying to lie to the females of this house. _"Yes, I suppose I am. Though I do not think she minds my absence - I have been in a rotten mood all day."

Nodding sagely at this, Aria took one step forward and climbed upon his lap without a shred of hesitation. Automatically, Erik wrapped his arm about her waist to steady her small body as she settled comfortably against his chest, her dark head resting tiredly against his shoulder. "W-Why did you y-yell at M-Momma this morning?" Aria murmured as her small hand came up to grip a loose section of his shirt. "I d-don't like it w-when you f-fight."

"Truly I do not know why I shouted at her," he began honestly, one hand rising to brush absently over Aria's tiny head. "I was upset because something of mine was missing and at the time I thought she might have taken it."

"Are you s-still mad that your m-mask was m-missing?" she asked quietly, glancing up at him with those odd slate gray eyes she raised a hand to touch the bottom edge of his mask with one finger. "D-Doesn't it itch t-terrible?"

Momentarily stunned, Erik could stare down at the child in his arms. "How did you know it was my mask which was missing?" Automatic suspicion flickered across his mind. _What does she know?_

A grin flashed across Aria's pale face. "I h-have fairy b-blood!" she whispered conspiratorially. "Remember I t-told you."

"Yes, I remember. I just forgot for a moment," he replied guiltily. _Now I know I am a loon. Suspecting a child of stealing…_Brightening suddenly as a moment of inspiration glimmered through the confusing fog surrounding his brain, Erik sat up straighter. "Could you perhaps help me with a problem I have been having then?" When Aria eagerly nodded, Erik smiled slightly. "Can you tell me who took it? Or how they took it?"

The child gave a semi bored nod at the question, as if the answer should be obvious. "It is easy t-to s-steal something w-when someone is s-sleeping. It is easy to m-make sure s-someone g-goes to sleep too if you w-want. Can w-we play the p-piano now?" she asked, changing the subject without preamble as only a child can.

Erik did not answer her immediately, her words occupying every inch of his thoughts. _So the bastard drugged me did he? How did I not catch him at it? He was only over for about ten minutes yesterday and I was sure he remained in the parlor…_Nearly bursting with fury he hardly felt it when Aria began tugging on his jacket, her insistent little hands patting the pocket where he kept the Saint Jude medal Brielle had given him.

"C-can we _p-please_ play on the p-piano?" she asked again, adding a slight whimper to her tone.

Coming out of his musings, Erik looked down at Aria's expectant cherub's face and smiled. "Certainly, but do you remember your part of the duet I taught you?"

"Y-Yes," she squealed happily as she slid off his lap.

Standing slowly, Erik worked the kinks out of his spine. He was momentarily uneasy about leaving the relative safety of the library, but Aria's delighted grin swayed any reserves he still held. _She has me wrapped right around her little finger,_ he thought with a smile, feeling better from her company despite the dismal cloud of anxiety he had been operating under for the last several days.

As he took Aria's little hand in his and walked slowly to the door, the optimism he had been afraid to listen to all the past week began to work its way back into his thoughts, quieting, for once, the negative influences of the survivalist whispering polluting his mind. _I don't know what I have been worried about. Everything will work out as long as I turn the full reserves of my mental capacities to the problem. After all, Andrew is only an overconfident twit. He has absolutely no idea who he is dealing with. If he thinks stealing my mask will do any permanent damage he is vastly mistaken. He might have won the battle, but the war will be my victory._

Smiling, Erik walked hand in hand with Aria down the hallway toward the parlor where he could distantly make out two distinct voices.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Brielle stood to show Andrew out when the young lord looked at his watched and started at the time. He had kept his visits rather short over the last two days due to a nasty stomach virus, but he always made sure to check up on her and Aria at least once a day, if only for a few minutes. It was odd really - Andrew's behavior had become increasingly attentive, affectionate even, just as Brielle's relationship with Erik suffered extreme amounts of strain.

Erik's temperamental and violent outbursts were driving her absolutely mad with worry. This morning's rampage was just the latest in a series of increasingly violent tantrums. _To think he actually thought I would take his blasted mask, _she thought with a huff, using her irritation as a shield against the hurt his mistrust caused.

Until the beginning of the week , Brielle had been sure she was used to his odd moods and quick draw temper , but the last few days had proven just how unprepared she was to deal with the darkest portions of his disposition. Unsure of how to bring him out of his slump Brielle could only leave him to his own devices, but it was becoming ever more difficult to turn a blind eye toward the odd happenings of the household.

Still she trusted him, the stress of the week not yet able to dim the intensity of her affection, a fact that both worried and surprised her. _I have lost my mind after all, because I know he would damn near have to strangle me to death before my feelings could be swayed. _

Carefully keeping her face blank of the troubles plaguing her, Brielle watched Andrew pick up his hat from the seat next to him. She turned to walk him to the door, but his hand upon her shoulder stayed her advance. Turning her back to the parlor door she smiled at Andrew, waiting patiently for whatever it was he wished to say.

When he hesitated, Brielle hurriedly filled the silence, suddenly uneasy under the seriousness of Andrew's dark gaze. "I am glad you are feeling better. A stomach malady can be terribly uncomfortable."

"Hmm, yes indeed," he replied with an air of distraction, his eyes flickering momentarily over her shoulder to the doorway. "It warms my heart to hear that you were concerned for my welfare."

"Well of course, after all you…"

Taking a step toward her Andrew sucked in a deep breath, his eyes fixed firmly now upon her face. With slight misgivings, Brielle saw his gaze settle upon her lips with an all too familiar look of longing before quickly jerking back to her eyes. "Brielle, do you remember the first time we met?"

Blushing slightly at the memory, the Irish woman found herself looking down at her clasped hands. "Yes, I believe I upended your drink all over your lovely dress coat. You made me very nervous."

"I trust some of that nervousness has dissipated over the years. What has it been, ten years now? Hopefully my presence has come to elicit something more than nervousness by now," he murmured quietly, a gentle smile softening the normally unyielding darkness of his eyes.

Laughing lightly out of embarrassed unease, Brielle reached out and patted the young lord's arm. "You know perfectly well I consider you a part of the family," she chuckled, giving the him a swat.

Sighing dramatically, Andrew rolled his eyes. "That is what I was afraid of," he murmured. When Brielle cleared her throat uncomfortably, the young lord cracked a smile, his dark eyes actually crinkling at the edges with laughter. "I am simply teasing you, Brielle. I have only recently realized that I have been far too serious and self-involved these last few years." Sobering slightly, he glanced down at the hat in his hands. "I suppose John's death affected us all more than we thought. In the future I will try to be more lax in my manner. I like joking with you…more than I thought I would."

Remaining quiet for a moment, Brielle glanced down at her wedding ring, spinning it slowly about her finger in thought. "That is wonderful news. It is good to hear that you are making a step forward."

"Ah, speaking of taking steps forward," Andrew began, his smile widening ever so slightly as he glanced over her shoulder toward the door. "I have also come to the conclusion that I have been unfair to two people I should have given my kindness to."

Confused, Brielle cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Taking her hands in his, Andrew gave them a gentle squeeze before continuing. "When I first met your friend Erik I suppose I was threatened by his presence here. Because of this I have been terribly antagonizing to him despite the fact I knew I should treat him with the utmost respect."

Stunned by this uncharacteristic declaration, Brielle could only stare for several seconds in silence. "Respect him…why?"

"I would think it obvious…because he is _your_ friend."

Touched by his words Brielle dropped the man's hands and wrapped her arms enthusiastically around his neck. "You truly are a wonderful man. It has plagued me terribly that you two haven't gotten along. You don't know how much this means to me!"

Lowering his head to rest against the top of her snowy hair Andrew closed his eyes. "Oh, I think I do," he whispered in a voice too low for her to hear. Pulling away from her slightly, the young lord smoothed a hand down the side of her cheek as Brielle smiled up at him. "Another person I have been terrible to is Arianna."

When Brielle opened her mouth to reply Andrew shook his head slowly, silencing her words. "She is my brother's only child and I have not fulfilled my duty in her care. She is a remarkably clever girl despite the problem with her speech. You should not have to raise Arianna alone any longer, to worry about her development alone. I will search the world over for the best teachers of every art and science available if you wish it. There are wonderful linguistic specialists all over Europe who no doubt can help her. Why, I know a brilliant language professor in London who has had wonderful results with children like Arianna. He would readily accept the child as a student if only I asked. Money will not be an issue, she will have the best as she deserves. You won't have to worry any more."

Astounded to the point of tears, Brielle felt her knees turn to water as relief washed over her. Andrew had, within a matter of moments, dealt a killing blow to one of her chief worries. With just a few simple words she suddenly felt a great weight being lifted from her shoulders. _I won't be alone…I won't have to do it alone…_

With a delighted laugh, Brielle rose up on tiptoes and planted a kiss square on the startled lord's mouth. Laughing, she pulled away. "I love you…I love you…I love you!" she chanted, ecstatic that amongst the stress of the week, one glimmering ray of hope had finally shown through.

"Andrew, thank you so…" she started before a loud commotion out in the hallway interrupted her grateful words. Jerking around to frown at the door, Brielle briefly caught a glimpse of a shadow sweeping out of sight as her daughter shifted solemnly in the doorway. Opening her mouth to address the child, the white haired woman hardly had time to blink before Aria turned and ran off down the hall.

Shooting a bewildered frown over her shoulder at Andrew, Brielle ran out of the parlor after her daughter, having dismissed the odd shadow as a figment of her imagination.

She missed the elated expression of triumph which lit Andrew's face after she left; he had seen the shadow too, but did not dismiss it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik stumbled blindly down the hallway towards his room, his eyes irritatingly blurry. _Why can I not see correctly? _he wondered numbly, the gears of his consciousness turning faster and faster until he feared his head would explode. Every breath came too quickly on the heels of the one before, his hands and feet tingling from the dizzying oxygen levels in his blood. Only when he reached the safety of his bedroom did he even notice trails of wetness burning down his cheeks. _She kissed him…she kissed him…she loves him…she said it herself…she loves him._

Shakily, he closed the door behind him, desperately clinging to the deadened shock shrouding his heart. His eyes traveled unseeing around the room he had come to consider his over the past several months. _She lied…she lied…she lied…_……_The bitch…the two cent whore….she lied…and I was foolish enough to believe…how could I have believed her? _

Straightening from the door, Erik felt faint with the almost physical agony burning within his chest. Gripping a hand over his heart he fancied for a moment he heard it crumbling within him, leaving an all too familiar gaping hole of despair. _At least I did not love her…betraying little wretch…at least I did not love her. _

And as the numbness retreated before the advancing juggernaut of his betrayal and fury, Erik knew a terrible truth. He had been beaten…

_I cannot stay here any longer. _


	32. Saying Goodbye

**Um, just to warn everyone I will say right now that this chapter has a huge cliffhanger at the end. But please keep in mind this is not the end of the story. I wouldn't be that mean. Other than that I would like to thank my wonderful beta Juliana and my faithful reviewers for their input and support. **

Chapter 32: Saying Goodbye

Brielle chased Aria down the hallway and into the child's room, coming to an abrupt halt just inside the door. "Aria, love…" she began, her eyes searching the dim corners for the form of her daughter. Outside, a distant rumble of thunder chased the wind across the darkening sky. A storm was coming.

"I d-don't want to h-have new t-teachers! I w-w-want Erik!" the child screamed instantly, her tiny body emerging from the shadows to stand stiffly in the center of the room.

"Aria, I don't want you to be upset by what just happened in the parlor. I was only thanking your Uncle for his offer to help us out." When her daughter ignored this simple explanation by kicking an unlucky toy across the carpet Brielle began to frown. The child's behavior was becoming increasingly temperamental.

"I d-don't want H-HIM to c-come anymore! I h-hate Andrew! I h-hate h-him!"

Raising a hand to press against the hollow of her temple Brielle stepped further into the room. "Stop that instantly! I will not tolerate this sort of behavior young lady! Your uncle has been nothing but kind to us since your father died! If it had not been for his generosity we would have been living on the streets! You know your grandfather basically ran us out of England!"

Stamping a foot loudly against the floor, Aria turned her back to her mother and covered her ears with her hands. With an inhuman shriek the child wailed at the top of her lungs, her high pitched voice echoing off the dark wood paneling. Banging her palm against the wall to grab the attention of her banshee daughter, Brielle advanced to stand towering over Aria's shaking body.

"Stop it! Stop this at once! I am your mother!" she shouted against the ceaseless earsplitting screaming. When Aria gave no sign of stopping her noisy tantrum, Brielle cursed loudly before turning on her heel and marching out of the room. At the doorway the white haired woman paused and took the door handle in her hand.

"When you can behave yourself properly you may come out of this room. Until then you will stay in here!" she bellowed before swinging the door shut behind her. Leaning her back against the cool wood panel behind her, Brielle let out an agitated breath. _Why did I do that? I should not have yelled at her…I must be more on edge than I thought. The last few days have left me in a terrible mood. I will apologize to her after she has had time to cool off…_

Pushing off from the door, Brielle made her way slowly back down the hallway to the front parlor where Andrew continued to wait patiently, if slightly uncomfortably. Apparently he had heard the argument. Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Brielle gave him a harried smile. "I am sorry about that…she is terribly sensitive."

Merely nodding his understanding, Andrew turned his hat slowly in his hands. "No need to apologize. Children will be children. But I do believe it is time for me to make my exit. I believe it will begin to rain any moment and it is getting rather late as well."

"Oh yes of course," she replied distractedly. "I will show you out."

As Brielle walked the young lord to the door, she continued to press against the pressure building just behind her left temple. _Blast, I don't have time to have a headache right now. I don't have time for half the things I still need to get done. _Opening the front door, the white haired woman ushered Andrew out of the house. He donned his hat and said a hasty goodbye before making his way into the yard.

Turning suddenly Andrew glanced back at her, a worried expression darkening his eyes. "Get some rest Brielle. You look ready to faint at any moment." he stated matter-of-factly before mounting his waiting horse and galloping off down the drive.

Leaning against the doorframe for a moment as the gathering storm blew rain scented puffs of air over her burning face, Brielle closed her eyes tiredly. "I must look a terrible fright if Andrew is urging me to get some rest." Closing the door, she turned and headed wearily down the hallway. "Maybe I will go to bed a little early," she sighed as she glanced at the wall clock.

Walking with dragging footsteps into her bedroom, Brielle slowly began peeling off her many layers of clothing. The moment the corset's constricting embrace had been removed, the Irishwoman felt slightly better. The cool cotton of her nightdress was a welcome contrast to the stuffy heat of her daytime dress. Raising her hands above her head, she stretched tiredly and moved to the full length mirror in the corner of the room. Pulling the tiny hair pins from the bun at the back of her head Brielle let her long hair fall down her back. Rubbing her fingers over her scalp she was just about to turn from the mirror when she noticed a crimson droplet fall from her left nostril and slide down to her top lip. Startled at the sight of blood Brielle stepped closer to the mirror, one hand rising to touch tenderly at the drop.

"What the hell?" she murmured, peering closer at her image. Wiping the blood away Brielle blinked rapidly as she watched her own face go deathly white in her reflection. Odder still, as she continued to stare at herself she saw her own eyes dilate until only a dim ring of gray surrounded the blackness of her pupils. The floor under her feet gave an unexpected lurch just then, sending her staggering to the side. The sight of her Persian rug flew up toward her as she fell to the ground, her vision graying at the edges. _No, no…not now…not…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Buttery yellow sunlight flickered steadily onto Brielle's upturned face as she sat rocking absently on the front porch. A breeze tickled the wind chime into a short burst of song as she slowly opened drowsy eyes. She smiled at the familiar sight of her daughter skipping through the tall grass, her dark hair sweeping back and forth at her every movement. She sighed sleepily into the welcoming summer air, the lilac growing just around the corner of the house making each puff of breeze heavy with its scent, as she waited for the comforting presence of her mystery man to arrive.

Though she had never seen the man's face Brielle had come to know his touch, his voice. And in her waking mind she knew who she wished the man to be, hoping deep in her heart for the dream to bleed into reality, for the man to take up a name. But at the same time these longings frightened her, they made her vulnerable to a pain she was sadly very familiar with. Another loss, she knew, would break what was left of her heart. _My word Brielle, it is just a pleasant dream. Stop over-processing it and just enjoy. _

Knowing the scene to be a dream did nothing to diminish the serenity of the moment, and Brielle was in no hurry to awake from this fantasy. This particular dream, since its debut several weeks ago, had repeated nightly until Brielle knew every movement, every smell as if they were burned into her brain. Its constant occurrence was soothing after days of stressful arguments and frustrating silences. Somehow, despite everything, she knew everything would work out for the best.

But as Brielle leaned back in her chair she noticed something was different this time, she felt lighter than she had in her last dream. Raising a hand to rest upon her abdomen, she was startled when her palm fell not on the pregnant swell she had come to expect, but an unpretentiously flat belly. With a frown, Brielle glanced down and stared at this odd alteration to the dream she had come to know so well. As she drew her hand away from her stomach, a flicker of hollow dread tightened like a vise around her chest. _Something is wrong…it wasn't like this before._

Blinking with confusion, Brielle raised her eyes to the yard where Aria had been playing happily moments ago; the child was nowhere to be seen, she had disappeared as if she had never been. Climbing to her feet, the white haired woman took one step off the porch calling her daughter's name with growing anxiety, but only the tinkling of the wind chime greeted her straining ears. The tall grass and wildflowers, which only moments ago held charm and appeal, now loomed endlessly into the distance, concealing something sinister and unknown.

A deep seated sense of trepidation stirred within her, climbing ever higher into her consciousness until it clawed at every thought, took every breath. Wrapping her arms about her waist, Brielle turned back towards the house unsure of what to do - the knowledge that this was all just a dream no longer proved comforting. Her attention turned suddenly to the front door when her ears caught the soft click of the latch being pulled back. _That's right - any second now the door will open. That is how it goes. The door opens and he comes out, we talk and then I wake up._ _Please, I want to wake up…something is wrong here. _

Stepping back up onto the porch after a moment had passed, Brielle waited for the door to open, her heart racing with expectation. _Any second now…_Slowly, as she watched with bated breath, the door knob turned with an over loud squeak in the resounding quiet of the dream. Taking another step closer she reached a trembling hand toward the door, but as her fingers brushed the revolving knob it dissolved from under her hand, leaving a dark void in the smooth plane of the door.

Startled, she jerked backward as the hole grew larger, watching it eat away at the front of the house until the swirling blackness encompassed an area large enough for a small person to step through. Squinting into the oddity before her, Brielle tilted her head to the side trying to see into the apparently unending dark, nothing meeting her gaze besides the shifting whirlpool of shadow. As she watched open mouthed, the edge where the hole met the house siding began to shift and bend. Slowly, like water swirling down a drain, the darkness began to suck everything around it into its depth.

Backing unsteadily away from the horror opening up before her Brielle turned and jumped off the porch at a dead run, her skirts kicking out behind her. "This isn't right! This isn't how it is supposed to be!" she screamed. "Erik, Aria where are you!"

As she ran, Brielle could hear the destruction behind her as the gaping chasm pulled ever more quickly at the surroundings. She did not have to glance over her shoulder to see it was catching up with her; the very ground shook under her feet from the approaching force. _Wake up Brielle. This is a dream - just wake up. _

Finally, unable to bear the unknown danger behind her any longer, Brielle turned her head to look back at where the house had been. Nothing was left, only a darkness beyond any moonless night loomed behind her, its edge licking inches towards her racing feet. But as she jerked her head back around to the front, Brielle caught a vague image in the corner of her eye. Glancing in that direction, hoping to find a savior, she distantly saw a cloaked man riding away on what remained of the drive leading from her house. The man paused and turned in his saddle, one side of his face glimmering abnormally white. With a jolt Brielle recognized him and stopped running.

"ERIK! ERIK help me!" she shrieked, as her feet slowly began to sink into the inky blackness. "Erik wait come back! Wait! Help me! Do not leave me here alone! PLEASE!"

But he did not appear to hear her, for the masked man turned away and urged his mount on without another glance in her direction. Erik rode off into the darkness without looking back.

Jerking suddenly upright from the floor Brielle gasped for breath - cold sticky sweat stood out across her forehead and dripped down her back. A blinding flash of lightning lit up the room in pale white light for a mere moment, its brightness soon followed by rolling thunder that shook the house. Without a thought, Brielle shakily climbed to her feet and staggered out the door. She ran so quickly from her room that she hardly remembered traveling down the hallway; racing to Erik's closed door, Brielle pounded on the dark wood until her fist ached. Calling his name with growing hysteria she yanked the door open and scanned the room frantically. It was empty. Whipping around, Brielle ran toward the front of the house; when she reached the front door she wrenched it open with inhuman force.

Fear drove her outside into the heart of a raging storm, but even as the wind lashed at her face and cut through her thin nightshift Brielle did not hesitate. Somehow she knew she had to get to the barn.

Somehow she knew that he was leaving her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tragedy is the inevitable working out of things; it can neither be avoided nor overcome. The one true constant in the universe is that life ends in death, and love…love ends in betrayal. There is no happily ever after, it doesn't exist. And though the deepest corners of Erik's heart had rejected this truth his entire life despite his mother's cool disgust and the gypsies' brutal abuse, he had no strength left to fight against it any longer. No other choice remained but to simply accept what fate had been beating into him since birth. He was born into loneliness and he would die alone.

Staring numbly over the back of Brielle's old carriage horse, Erik laid his cheek against the mare's withers. _I don't know why I am so surprised. I know better, truly I do. I know that despite everything I have accomplished, every breathtaking aria I write or inspiring building I design, I am still just an ugly gypsy sideshow._ Closing his burning eyes, Erik breathed in the warmth of the animal under his hands. Dully he felt the hot trail of a tear slide out from under his closed lids as the churning storm of pain beat unrelenting against the brittle shield that his shock provided.

Carefully he raised his head and gazed fixedly down at the wet swatch of fur on the mare's back where his face had rested. After a moment the trembling deep in his heart stilled as his dark brows drew together into a severe line. The echoing whispers of agony within his soul quieted as another more powerful emotion poured into his consciousness.

A comforting wave of unbridled fury washed over him as he turned and snatched a saddle off a nearby shelf, surrounding him in its hellish heat, molding the broken shards of his heart into a deadened lump within his chest. _No, there will be no hurting this time. Why should I mourn the fickle fancies of a damnable Irish trollop? She certainly will not give this poor masked fool a second thought after she returns to London and basks in the glow of her young lord's riches. She is just another chapter in the tragic saga of my life. I will forget her…I will forget all of this…it is just a matter of will._

Even as he gently swung the saddle up onto the mare's back and settled it into place, his hardened heart and mind boiled with a growing need for violence, a need to inflict pain likened to that which hovered just outside the edges of his anger. The old horse whinnied and swung its great head around to gaze mournfully at him as he tightened the cinch just as a clap of thunder shook the small barn. Soothing the shaggy mare Erik stroked a finger down the animal's muzzle, his hand trembling even though his face remained carefully blank.

When the howling wind blew the barn doors open with a resounding crack, Erik merely continued to calm the nervous animal. It wasn't until a shadow fell across the floor to his left that he bothered to pause in his ministrations. Slowly, with temper blackening his features, Erik turned toward the doorway. He dropped his hands from the mare's head when his eyes fell upon a familiar figure gasping for breath just outside the barn.

Brielle stood drenched to the bone and shivering in the cold rain, her breath puffing out before her face like white wedding ribbons in the air. She stood perfectly still, almost ghost-like, despite the chaotic storm breaking over her, even the long threads of her hair hanging limp and plastered to her small body. Only her large fog gray eyes moved, taking in the scene of the saddled horse and his cloaked figure.

"What are you doing?" she demanded weakly, as if she already knew what his answer would be.

Not bothering with a reply, Erik turned his face away from Brielle, the very sight of her with her wet night dress and muddy feet bringing the pain that much closer to the surface. She looked so young, so lovely that his blackened and bruised heart began to bleed again…her beauty made him weak, Erik vowed he would hate her for that.

"Erik, what are you doing!" Brielle demanded again, this time an edge of hysteria distorting the normally charming lilt in her speech.

"What is the matter, Madame Donovan?" Erik inquired politely, his voice dangerously low. "Are you having trouble with your fortune telling abilities? Have they betrayed your expectations?"

"No, Erik you must…"

"Then perhaps your eyes have failed you," he shot over his shoulder, the brutality boiling within him leaking into his voice as he fisted his hands at his sides.

"Please Erik, what has happened to upset you so?" she pleaded stepping cautiously into the barn, the muddy hem of her nightgown trailing through the dry straw.

Resting a trembling hand upon the pommel of the saddle, Erik sighed heavily. "I am not upset, Madame," he replied softly, gathering cold formality about him like armor against the sincerity he heard in her voice. _I can hate her if I try…stupid twit…blasted horrible woman…making me almost believe…making me hope that…that perhaps…BLAST IT!_

With her arms wrapped protectively about her waist, Brielle stood shivering just outside the stall where he continued to saddle the shaggy mare. "Of course you are upset. You haven't called me Madame since the first few weeks we knew each other. Something must have happened. Please tell me!" she begged, her rustling footsteps coming just a bit closer.

The anger that her soft words and vulnerable appearance had quelled roared to life once again in his chest then. _She doesn't even know! She has no idea that I saw her…wretched, miserable, bitch! After all why would her confession of love to another man bother little old Erik? He is just a medical oddity after all!_

Whirling violently around, his cowled cloak whipping about his ankles, Erik stalked toward the dripping woman with murder in his eyes. Annoyingly enough, the damned girl stood her ground. "What has happened is that I saw you…" cutting off suddenly in the middle of his tirade, Erik flashed a mean smile down at Brielle. Something about his expression must have disturbed her, for she finally took a step away from him. When she raised a nervous hand to press against the base of her throat, Erik's own fingers itched to wrap about her pretty neck and squeeze. _It would be easy…_

"Is it because of the strange things happening about the house?" she asked worriedly. "I know you have had nothing to do with the disappearances. If I have not expressed that then I am deeply sorry…"

"Oh, you will be sorry alright…" he growled, taking a threatening step forward, his menacing demeanor pushing Brielle another step backward.

"Erik, please," she pleaded, her wonderful eyes filling with tears. "Tell me what is wrong. Do not go."

Raising his chin to better look down his nose at her sniffling, Erik's lips thinned as he struggled to keep the blistering insults from spilling from his mouth. He saw things so clearly now. Her sincerity, her kindness, and most of all her lovely expressive eyes were all a farce. The woman used her attributes like weapons, wielding them with more skill than the finest marksman in the world. After all, Brielle had nearly found his walled off heart with her gentle smiles and witty tongue. _But now it will not work. I can see everything so clearly now. What a fool I was to have almost believed her. Wicked little vixen certainly has been leading Andrew on for years…I could almost feel sorry for the prat even after everything the bastard did…now he will be stuck with her. _

"As I stated before Madame, nothing is wrong with _me._ I have simply decided my time here finally must come to an end," he stated matter-of-factly, never once taking his burning gaze from her face. Forcing himself to see the confusion and hurt war across Brielle's features. _It is all a lie…_

"What are you talking about?" she breathed, her voice cracking halfway through the question.

Sighing impatiently, Erik gave an indifferent shrug. "As surprising as it may seem to a woman such as yourself I did have a life before coming here. I never had any intention of staying here forever. I have business I must return to." The lie dripped sweetly off his tongue, like honey from a beehive. Especially when he saw the dramatic effect it had upon Brielle's expression.

It was laughable really, how easily he could predict her emotions, now that he saw the true nature of her charm. First came the open mouthed shock, then the confusion and disbelief, only to be followed by the hurt darkening her eyes. How could he have never seen the lie of it all before? How could he have been tricked by this woman's wiles after Christine had given him a thorough lesson in the treachery of the female heart only months ago? _I am a damnable fool…that's why…I always fall for the beautiful things in life…but no longer. I think it is time I stopped being a fool…I think it is time that I returned just a little bit of the agony I have been dealt. _

"Erik, what are you talking about? What business? Why are you acting this way? I thought…I thought we were…"

"What…you thought what? That we were friends perhaps?" he asked, a cruel chuckle bubbling up in his throat. Taking a step forward, emboldened by the security of his fury, Erik raised a hand and brushed a finger across Brielle's cool cheek. "Did you actually believe that to be true? Poor dear. I won't lie, I was grateful for your assistance. But make no mistake, I would have left the moment I could have walked out the door if the amusing prospect of tutoring your daughter had not arisen. My only interest in _you_ is the very same thing Lord Andrew has been after for years," he finished quietly, pointedly turning his gaze downward to her lips and her clinging nightgown.

"W-What…" she murmured in stupefied disbelief, her arms coming up to cross self-consciously over her chest. "Why are you saying these things…you don't mean that. You saved Aria's life…why would you do that if you didn't care!"

"Dear Madame I am a devilish bastard to be sure, but even I could not allow a mere babe to drown."

As he continued to gaze down at her, the dark pain behind Brielle's eyes slowly sparked into anger. With a smooth quick movement, the white haired woman batted his hand away from her face. "Stop this right now! You are lying! Why are you doing this!"

Casually straightening his cloak, Erik took a step away from Brielle. "Being a woman who considers herself an expert in the medicinal arts, you of all people should know that when you amputate a leg it is best to do it with a sharp saw and firm hand."

"Is that what you are trying to do? Amputate yourself from m…from this household?"

"Certainly."

"You would have left without a word! You would have left without saying goodbye to anyone…to Aria…to me! She loves you! How can you just leave?"

Frowning slightly as a corrosive drip of guilt blackened the pure white heat of his self-righteous anger, Erik turned his back on Brielle. _I forgot for a moment about Aria. I should not have left her without a word. Damn it, I always loose my head when I get like this. But…it is too late now…it is always too late…_

"The child will understand. She is young…children forget." Looking over his shoulder at Brielle Erik flashed her a wolf's smile, nothing behind it but teeth. "Besides, she will be busy enough with her new tutors once you return to London."

Brielle fell silent then, the crashing of the thunder filling the quiet between them with its rolling beat. "I don't believe you," she whispered, her voice fighting the hopelessness whitening her face.

Striding stiffly over to where the old mare stood waiting, Erik took the reins in his hands. "You'd better begin to, because I am tired of catering to your oddities and temper. As I said I was grateful for your help, but you are no longer of any use to me."

"No Erik…"

"YOU ARE OF NO USE TO ME!" he bellowed, his voice punctuated by a raucous clap of thunder.

As the echo of his words faded, the last foundations of Brielle's trust in him crumbled away into dust. "How dare you say that…after what I told you…"

"What, that your only fear is being useless? Poor thing, I suppose that comes from you being unable to stop the deaths of your father and husband. Take a little advice Madame - no matter how much you study, how much you accomplish…in the end you will be nothing but a useless young girl. No one will ever seriously consider the wild theories and long winded ranting of a woman. And I am done with you now. Goodbye Brielle. I will return the horse as soon as I reach Paris."

A terrible heart rending moan passed through Brielle's trembling lips as the first bright tears escaped from her eyes and splashed down her cheeks. "Keep the horse," she choked. "Consider her your salary for two months of music lessons."

With a terrible fascination, Erik gazed fixedly at every subtle nuance of emotion passing over Brielle's bone white face. Something terrible was working its way through her, starting close to her heart and moving outwards. Her small hands shook so badly now that she could not even grip her wedding ring hard enough to give it a distressed twist. Erik waited for the anger, the hate, to crease her brow and tighten her mouth, but as he continued to watch no such signs appeared.

To his dismay the tears continued to cut like diamonds down Brielle's face, a wrecked, bruising hurt flattening her eyes to the exact color of wet slate. Her unique sparkle which normally made her so enticing winked momentarily and then faded, making her almost appear to shrink before his eyes. _The same thing happens after a person dies…without animation they shrink down to the elemental makeup of flesh and bone. _A white hot flash of lightning flooded through the open barn doors then, limning Brielle's small frame and soft curves like the silver edging on a cloud. It made her seem not a real woman at all but a thing made of mist.

Finding himself no longer able to stomach the scene before him, Erik turned his face away from the Irishwoman. Suddenly the sight of her pain no longer amused him. Clucking quietly to the old mare he led the animal toward the door, pulling the deep cowl of his cloak up and over his head. _I can forget all of this…I can hate her if I try. It will be easy…_

Just as Erik prepared to step out into the pouring rain, Brielle's voice rang out across the small barn. "Wait Erik…please don't…don't…" she stuttered brokenly.

Turning his head to the side, he gazed coolly back at her as she tried to push the words up past the blockade in her throat. But when her eyes rose and caught the sneering impatience in his gaze, her mouth snapped shut. Whatever she had been about to ask of him died before it fell from her lips. "Never mind," she whispered hopelessly. "It doesn't matter…I saw that it would happen this way…why did I think I could change it…I can never change anything…"

With a shrug Erik turned quickly toward the raging storm, ignoring the guilt trying to wheedle itself through the protective confines of his rage. _They will forget me…people always do. In less than a month's time I will only remain in the deepest regions of their nightmares._ In one smooth motion he swung up onto the old mare's back, settling into the saddle with a practiced ease. _It will be easy…forgetting is easy…_

Unable to stand the boring stare of Brielle's eyes upon his back any longer he nudged the horse into a quick trot, throwing himself into the rain, running away from the house and all the falsely happy memories it held. _It was all a lie…it was all a lie…it was all a lie…it was all a lie._ The roaring of the wind in his ears and the voice in his head drowned out all other sound, cocooning him within a tunnel of nothingness, making it easier to stare straight ahead into the darkness. _Where will I go now? What is left for me? _

For a moment, as he raced forward into the embracing arms of the night, Erik thought he heard Brielle's voice calling out to him over the whistling wind. _It was a lie…a lie…_the voice repeated steadily within his head. In the end it was only the strength of that logical repetition that kept him from turning in the saddle to gaze back toward the house, toward Brielle.

And suddenly he knew where he had to go, the only place which had ever truly offered him a home. _Yes, that is right. I will go home…I will return to my beautiful Opera House._


	33. The Shadows of Grief

**Hey there everyone! I felt so bad about the cliff hanger in the last chapter that I bunkered down and finished this one early for you. And once again I would just like to stress to everyone, so you don't worry too much, that this is not the end of the story. With that in mind the ending of this chapter may not be as stressful. Tehe. **

**A huge thanks to Juliana for once again getting this back to me so quickly. Hurray for Juliana! And once again another thanks to all of you who have been reviewing my story! You guys rock! **

Chapter 33: The Shadows of Grief

Outside the library window a nest full of baby robins screeched noisily when their mother returned with a fat worm clutched in her beak. Brielle could just make out their gaping mouths over the brim of the nest from her spot in the window seat. Normally she would have smiled at the humorous sight of their waving bald heads, but as of late she wasn't sure if she could ever smile again.

April and May had come and gone in an endless procession of miserable days. Early summer had always been her favorite time of the year. It was a period of new life, of green trees and baby animals. Her birthday was only a few weeks away in July; she would be twenty-six. Yet despite all these reasons to celebrate, Brielle could not stir herself to feel anything but bitterness. Life was going on all around her, passing her by as if nothing had happened, as if her life hadn't crashed to the bottom of a deep, black ravine shattering into a million pieces.

Brielle had learned to tell time through a mourner's eyes. The days had come to be measured by the hour, the hours by the minute, and the minutes by the number of painful beats from a broken heart. Erik had left more than two months ago. In her mind Brielle knew this; she knew that he had now been gone nearly as long as he had stayed in the first place. But somehow that did not prove to be comforting. She was inconsolable.

Tilting her head slightly Brielle pressed her forehead against the window pane, the chirping birds blurring as her eyes focused on her own reflection inches in front of her face. _It is not that he left,_ she told herself for the thousandth time that day, _but it is the way he left. Why did he say those things…I thought he cared about us. I know now that I was wrong…I was a fool to let a stranger into the house…I was a fool to begin to think that I could lov…care for him. I was a fool…_

With a sigh Brielle brought up a hand to rub at her red rimmed eyes, resting her elbow against the top of her bent knee. Every morning since the day Erik had left she had come to sit here in the library, watching the lane with a tired gaze. Even as her anger built against the man who had trampled her feelings casually under his boot, she still came to sit for hours watching, waiting. She no longer knew why she bothered, only that she did not have the strength to ignore the road, or face the possibility of him never returning.

Sudden hatred burned within her chest, beating off the fog of misery clogging her lungs for one blessed moment as she went over Erik's final words to her. She welcomed the anger. She welcomed the bitterness which went along with it. Embracing any emotion besides the despair in which she had been drowning. Slowly, Brielle could feel herself climbing out of the inky darkness of misery. _The bastard…the bastard…how could I have been so stupid? What is the point of knowing the future if I cannot even see the true nature of those around me? Hate him Brielle…Hate him for what he did to you…but hate him even more for what he did to your daughter!_

Aria had taken the news of Erik's departure with an oddly stoic reaction. The child had stood perfectly still, her large wide eyes downcast, as Brielle had knelt before her. Taking the child's silence as a good sign Brielle had thanked God that at least her daughter would escape the shocked misery she had felt even then. Once again she had been deceived.

For many days Brielle had watched her daughter's every movement carefully, searching for any sign that the child was not as unconcerned as she appeared. Though Aria had been quieter than normal, she did not seem to be as disturbed by Erik's absence as her mother. But slowly, after several weeks of this mindless acceptance, the child's veneer of calm began to crumble.

Brielle had awoken one morning to the familiar opening notes of the duet Erik had taught Aria. Jumping from bed, ridiculously ecstatic over the prospect of the man's return, she had run down the hallway to the front parlor. Skidding in stockinged feet around the corner of the door she had stumbled into the room, a trembling smile just beginning to curl up the corners of her mouth. Brielle stood in the doorway for several moments, like an idiot, before she realized something was wrong with the music floating through the air. Only half of the melody played for her ears and as her eyes fell to the piano bench, she realized why.

Erik had not returned. Aria had sat alone plucking out the first two stanzas of the duet, her tiny feet dangling over the pedals, before halting for a split second and repeating the same notes over again. The child's half-hearted stabbing at the keys was mechanical at best. She couldn't seem to get past the part in the song when Erik's practiced hand had usually joined her. It was at that moment, as her daughter played the same notes over and over again, that Brielle had given up hope of ever seeing the second man in her lifetime that she cared for. It was like a death in the family, that final acceptance, or a death in herself.

Every day for a week Aria had played those same jarring notes repeatedly without stopping. It became maddening, that stupid song. Brielle could honestly say she hated that damned piano by the end of that week. Finally she had taken to stuffing her ears with tufts of cotton in order to muffle the sound. She didn't have the heart to tell Aria to stop her playing. She didn't have the heart to do much of anything anymore.

Because the child had spent so much time at the piano it had taken Brielle a great deal of time to notice the other symptoms of her daughter's quiet grief. At the dinner table each night Brielle slowly became aware that Aria's stuttering was growing worse. Even answering simple questions soon became beyond her daughter's ability, every word drawing out to painful lengths. She could sense Aria's growing frustration, could feel the child's hurt and confusion mirrored in her own breast. But no matter what she did, nothing helped. Erik's patient lessons had evaporated completely in his absence. It was worse than before he came.

The situation deteriorated until one day Aria simply stopped talking. Brielle employed every trick she could think of to cajole even a single word from the child, but to no avail. The day the young Irishwoman last heard her daughter speak marked when the hate began to eat away at Brielle's heart ache. She could hate him for hurting her daughter, it was easy, it was natural…but damn it, why couldn't she stop the pain paralyzing her every thought?

A series of heavy footsteps sounded behind her then, distracting the brooding thoughts flickering about her skull. Raising her face from the glass, Brielle turned her head around to see her brother come strolling across the library towards her. His normally humorous demeanor dampened to the point of unrecognizable sobriety. _The poor dear has been worrying to death about us, _she thought absently as she tried and failed to muster a smile for him. _As soon as he heard what had happened he raced back here. If it hadn't been for him and Andrew I know I would have gone mad._

"Bri, that new cook which Andrew sent over says she has made some stew for the midday meal. Would you like me to bring some in to you?" he asked quietly.

Frowning slightly as she stared up at her brother, Brielle shrugged her shoulders. "I am not very hungry Conner, but thank you for offering," she stated, turning her face back to the window.

Shifting uncomfortably, Conner crossed his arms over his chest. "You should eat, Bri. You have been losing too much weight. It isn't healthy."

"A woman can never be too thin," she fired back, a little bit too defensively. "That is why we wear corsets."

His uncertainty quickly transforming to irritation Conner advanced toward the window seat, green eyes flashing under frowning auburn eyebrows. "Do not hand me that load of malarkey. You know he isn't coming back, Bri! Do not punish your body because of that fact."

"Of course he isn't coming back! He threw this family away without a second thought! Never in my life have I ever been as wrong about a person as I was about him!"

"Brielle, there had to be some sort of misunderstanding," Conner began slowly as he ran a hand through his curly hair. "I just cannot believe that…"

Leaping to her feet in a violent burst of energy Brielle pounced upon Conner's startled figure, shoving the man back a step with both her hands. "Believe what you will! I was there! I heard his words! He used everything I ever told him to hurt me as best he could! DO NOT DEFEND HIM!" she finished on a scream, her cheeks darkening to a furious crimson.

Conner took his sister's blows stoically, the irritation slowly draining from his face. Raising his hands up slowly the redhead took hold of Brielle by the shoulders, giving the girl a slight squeeze to still her angry thrashing. His dark green eyes flickered with what could only be pity. "Hush, Bri…stop fighting. I am not the man you are angry at."

A tense silence followed his words as Brielle stood stiffly, staring up at him with a dry eyed hatred which was meant for someone else. Slowly, the fight left her gaze, leaving her eyes as stark and expressionless as old silver coins. The pain behind her anger rose up within her, slumping her shoulders and weakening her knees. Stepping into Conner's arms Brielle rested her snowy head against his shoulder, suddenly too tired to stay upright on her own.

"I know you aren't. I am sorry I have been so terrible to you over the last few months. I just can't seem to get back into the swing of things. One minute I am sad and the next I am angry. It makes me so tired sometimes."

"I know, love, I know." Conner murmured soothingly against her hair. "You are grieving. I understand that. You lost someone very close to you."

Feeling the tears beginning to burn the back of her eyes Brielle clung to her brother, desperate to stave off the onslaught of black writhing pain burning up the back of her throat. "I miss h-him," she whispered in a broken voice against Conner's shirt. "I think I would have missed him even if we had never met. How is that even possible? Why do I still feel this way? I want to hate him so badly, but it is like he is under my skin. I just cannot get rid of him."

"Give it time, Bri. Just give it a little more time."

Raising her head from Conner's shoulder, Brielle looked up at her brother with pained eyes. "I am tired of waiting for these feelings to go away," she stated, her voice picking up speed with each word, the bitter hardness of anger flickering behind her eyes once again. "I am sick and tired of letting the men around me control my life."

Easing away from her brother's comforting hold Brielle straightened her shoulders, smoothing her clammy hands down the front of her shirts. "I think it is about time for me to make a few decisions of my own," she growled before stepping past her brother and sweeping out the library door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik lay perfectly still upon a catwalk high up in the rafters over the Opera Populaire's stage. The board under his chest swung ever so slightly as he raised an arm to rest under his cheek, his eyes staring fixedly down at the empty stage. There is nothing else in the world more depressing than an unoccupied theater. _Not that I need any help in that department. This place could be bursting full of people and I would still feel just as rotten. _Sighing, Erik picked idly at a splinter sticking up from the edge of the catwalk inches in front of his face.

The vast emptiness all around him rang with the echoing silence of the late hour. Even the dregs of the opera's work force had long since gone to bed, leaving Erik alone with his thoughts. It was his least favorite time of day, when all was quiet. At least in the harsh daylight the relentless pounding of the work crews repairing the fire damage on the stage could beat against the darkness clouding his mind. Daily he came to this spot over the stage to watch the men as they hammered and sawed, listening in on their common complaints and rowdy conversations. It was the one connection to the human race he still clung to.

For more than two months he had prowled the familiar halls and corridors of his beloved theater like a man possessed, looking for easy targets to release some of his fury upon. Those unfortunate souls who had stumbled across his path unknowingly had been promptly tormented by the vast repertoire of his trickery, the poor wretches receiving far harsher treatment than perhaps they deserved. He was punishing them for a betrayal they knew nothing about.

And yet, even as the anger ate away at every waking thought, Erik knew he had to be very careful. He could not be as lax as he had once been; it was no longer acceptable for the residents of the opera to catch even a glimpse of his presence. The once audacious Opera Ghost now kept to nasty accidents and hair raising noises to terrify those around him. How he loved to hear full grown men gasp and shiver in fear. It helped to distract him from the memories beating constantly within his skull, and he desperately needed the distraction.

Even the few familiar faces that had chosen to remain under the opera's employ were not safe from his secret and silent wrath. Old stage hands and seasoned chorus members where all sent running from odd howling or loud bangs. One day, however, that changed when he caught a fleeting glance of the severe features of his old savior Madame Giry and her pretty daughter Meg. The overpowering need to make contact with the older woman had nearly blocked out all his senses. His time at the Donovan household had made him weak, made him rely on human contact and conversation. He missed the simple action of communicating with another person, missed it terribly.

From that day on he avoided all those he recognized, purposely withdrawing from the sight of them, from the urge to make contact. Since that day he had not seen either of the Girys again, and he was glad when the elemental need to speak to others faded. Other projects soon overtook his time, drawing him deeper into his self-appointed solitude.

For a long time the daunting prospect of rebuilding his home far beneath Paris's bustling streets had filled his free time. The marauding crowds which had hounded him the night of Don Juan's premiere had made off with or destroyed most of his possessions, leaving little behind which could be put to further use.

All the books he had collected over his long and lonely lifetime were gone; a few scattered pages decaying under the black water of the underground lake were all that remained of his library. The furniture was likewise missing or in pieces across the cold stone floor, leaving the chambers of his old dwelling sadly empty. His breath had puffed out before his face as he had bent to stiffly pick up a stray sheet of music laying trodden into the ground. If there had been any room left in his bruised and blackened heart he would have hated those who had disrespected his belongings, but as it was he was far too busy hating one person in particular to make the effort to hate strangers.

Slowly, for many, many weeks he had quietly pilfered the bare necessities which he needed to live in relative comfort. Old discarded curtains were transformed into wall hangings to protect him from the dank chill of the stone vaults; set pieces were dismantled and rebuilt, according to his specifications, into new furniture. The costume department filled his closet once again with warm, if not fashionable, clothing. Food was simply stolen from the kitchens at night. Without the large budget he had once been accustomed to Erik made do with the opera's hand-me-downs, glad for everything he could get.

Somehow, even with the Spartan appearance of his existence, Erik felt comforted to be back in the underground tunnels he had come to know so well as a young man. The Opera had opened her arms to him, accepting him in her bone chilling darkness once again. Though his mind constantly beat with fury, his blood boiling within his veins, the Opera remained his one true companion. What did he need with a gray eyed girl when he had the mothering stone of his one true home concealing him from the hateful eyes of humanity? _Soon I won't even think about her at all. She will fade from my mind as the years pass. The Opera will open again and there will be music in these halls and I will forget those blasted beguiling eyes. I will forget that dear child and that redheaded buffoon. But I will not forget the hate; that I will keep close like a lover. I will not forget those words which have twice ruined my delusions. 'I love you…I love you' _

Raising his head and climbing quickly to his feet Erik walked casually down the catwalk, ignoring the great gaping distance between his feet and the floor below. Moving without sound he swung with amazing ease from one rafter to another, slowly making his way down to the stage level. The hard soles of his pilfered boots made a quiet thump when they hit the wooden floorboards, the sound overly loud in the silence of the darkened theater. Slinking between the shadows Erik made his way backstage, coming to a stop at a point near a back wall. With a quick gesture he tapped against the stone and a secret door slid open before him. Stepping into the welcoming darkness that lay within, Erik scowled as he turned to look back over his shoulder.

_I wonder what she is doing right now…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Pushing her shaded spectacles further up her nose, Brielle stood outside in the balmy summer wind. With a quick glance down at her wedding ring Brielle pursed her lips in thought. Slowly, purposely, she raised her right hand and took hold of the plain gold band between two fingers. With a few forceful twists Brielle successfully pulled the symbol of her commitment to her beloved John from her finger. After gazing sadly at the ring for several moments the white haired woman tucked it into her pocket. Behind her, Brielle could hear the young cooking girl Andrew had sent to her shifting nervously from foot to foot.

"I gave the messenger your letter almost an hour ago, Madame," she rushed, for the third time that day. "I don't know what could be keeping him. I even told the man to hurry, that it was important. Lord Donovan no doubt is already on his way."

Without turning to look at the hovering servant, Brielle waved a hand dismissively in the young woman's direction. "Do not worry so, Adeline," she said calmly, her face carefully blank as she watched the road. "We cannot bring him faster by wringing our hands, and you cannot help the speed that the messenger chooses to go."

The girl sighed in assent, calming after the assurance from her new mistress. A shy smile infused her voice as she stepped up beside Brielle. "Madame, I am glad to have been put in your service. You are kinder than most I have worked for."

Snorting Brielle glanced over at the servant. _She can't be much older than eighteen…how odd._ "I just don't think a person has to treat those that work for them badly. You have an honest job. If people had any brains they would respect their servants rather than look down their noses at them."

When Adeline stared at her, thoroughly shocked by her unconventional opinions, Brielle almost had the urge to smile - almost. The moment soon passed when the sound of pounding hoof beats reached both their ears. "Adeline, thank you for waiting with me, but could you please check in on Aria for a moment?"

Recognizing that statement as a polite way of asking for privacy, the young servant nodded her head and retreated back into the house. Alone now on the small porch, Brielle watched the flashy figure of the young lord Donovan's approach with cool, determined eyes. There was purpose now behind the emptiness in her gray gaze as she waited for Andrew to pull up before her and leap to the ground. His clothing in disarray and his hair standing up at wild angles, the dark eyes man set out toward her. Apparently he had left in all haste upon receiving her urgent letter.

Concern strained the lord's handsome face as he advanced across the yard toward her. "What is it Brielle? What is wrong?" he demanded as soon as he was within earshot. "You only said that I should come right away in your letter."

Pressing her hands against the butterflies in her stomach, Brielle waited for the dark eyed man to get a bit closer before answering. "Nothing is wrong, Andrew. I simply wanted to make sure you would come quickly."

A flash of irritation flickered across his face at her words before quickly being hidden. "Brielle," he began slowly. "If it wasn't important you should not have made me worry so. I nearly broke my neck riding over here. I thought something terrible had happened!"

For a moment the Irishwoman felt a bolt of guilt stab through her. _He really does look worried. I haven't made his life easy over the past few months, the poor man._ "I am sorry I made you worry, but in a way it was important that you come."

Giving her an exasperated smile, Andrew smoothed a gloved hand through his wind blown hair. "What is it then? Why did I need to be here?"

Pausing at his simple question, the butterflies in Brielle's stomach suddenly turned into a herd of stampeding elephants. _Am I doing the right thing? Conner was so angry when I told him what I plan on doing today. I don't know if I can do this…is it fair to Aria…to Conner…to even Andrew? But I am tired of letting others make the first move. I am tired of moping around this house waiting for a man I shouldn't give a second thought to. I have to change something. I have to give Aria some stability. I have to…I have to get HIM out of my mind. _

Stepping closer to the man who had looked after her family for years, Brielle brought a shaking hand up to straighten Andrew's white silk cravat. Keeping her eyes at his throat she cleared her throat. "I thought it important that you should be here when I accepted your marriage proposal," she stated hollowly despite the little voice in her head screaming in protest. _You don't love him! You don't love him!_

Stunned into stiff silence at her casual words, Andrew could only blink down at her, his mouth working the air like a fish out of water. "What did you just say?" he finally asked hesitantly.

"I said I have decided that I would like to marry you," Brielle repeated, trying to muster up some show of enthusiasm.

Slowly a smile curled the edges of Andrew's mouth upward, his black eyes taking on a luster Brielle had never seen before. He had never looked happier than at that moment. "God, Brielle! If you had included that little tidbit in your letter I would have been able to practically fly over here!" Laughing, Andrew took her hands in his and brought them up to his lips. "You have just made me the happiest man in all the world!" he declared, his teeth flashing in the sunlight as his grin widened even more.

Soothed by the boyish elation of the man before her, Brielle let out a pent-up breath. _Perhaps it won't be so bad after all…perhaps I have been unfair to him over the years. He is the one man in my life, besides Conner, who has stayed by my side. Who has not left me. He is the only one…that should mean something, shouldn't it?_ "I suppose that means the offer still stands then," she said, a shadow of her old humor winking to life momentarily.

"Absolutely! Always!" the young lord laughed. "I can't wait to tell everyone. They will be so delighted to hear the news!" Calming slightly to a more subdued level of delight, Andrew caught Brielle up in a quick embrace. "I will be a good husband to you Brielle. You will never have to worry about anything ever again. I will take care of everything…I will make sure no one ever hurts you again," he murmured into her ear.

Closing her eyes tiredly, Brielle turned her head towards his welcoming words. _That is exactly what I was hoping to hear._ "Yes, no one ever again," she mouthed silently on a sigh. "Ever again…


	34. Celebrations and Betrayals

**Hello everyone! I am so glad I am able to get you all this chapter before I have to go out town tomorrow! But the only reason I am able to do this is because of my genius beta Juliana. You must all bow down to her greatness! Three cheers to Juliana the best beta in the world! **

**Unfortunately for you guys this chapter is another cliff hanger. I am a terrible horrible bad person! But this chapter was already 12 pages long and I just had to stop! **

**Oh and I have an exciting announcement to make…well exciting for me anyway. Today I got an email with my first ever fan art in it. And it was fabulous too! If I can ever figure out how to post it somewhere I will tell you all to go see it. The artist was one of my reviewers. Her pen name is IHeartPOTO. Go check out her other work it is great. **

**Blah sorry this author's note is so long…but I hope you enjoy this next chapter…and once again thanks to every single reviewer! It is because of you guys I pushed to get this done before I went out of town! Hurray!**

Chapter 34: Celebrations and Betrayals

Six Months Later:

Mid December, 1871

The night sky glimmered as large, lace-like snow flakes sifted to earth, settling amongst the knee high drifts already upon the ground. Through the low hanging clouds a full moon cast its cold white light onto the frozen landscape, illuminating a long winding drive and the carriages slowly making their way up it toward the huge imposing manor at the lane's end. The soft thudding of the horse's hooves and the mournful groaning of the snow as it gave under a multitude of wheels filled the quiet night air. Shadowy figures quickly alighted from the lead coach and hurried toward the massive double doors of the Donovan mansion.

The house itself shone like a beacon through the strange half-light of the moon lit night; every window in the three story rectangular front winking with the warm glow of gas powered lamps. Thin webs of dormant ivy vines climbed up the sandy stone blocks of the front façade, hinting at the grandeur of the summer gardens. Corinthian columns framed the now open front door, echoing the popular revival of Roman style architecture a couple decades ago.

Brielle moved from the frost clouded window then pulling white silk gloves over her shaking hands, worrying over the number of cloaked people she had counted coming into the house. Andrew was throwing a large Christmas bash in honor of both the season and their impending marriage on New Years day, inviting every blue-blooded snot on the continent, or so it seemed anyway. At the last count Brielle had cared to listen to, over two hundred people were coming. Knowing that she would soon have to go down and mingle with such a huge crowd was enough to make her physically ill.

Sucking in a calming breath, Brielle moved to stand before a floor length mirror in the corner of the room. Despite the rolling sickness in her stomach she had to admit that at least outwardly she looked calm. Never being one to bother about her appearance, Brielle felt slightly embarrassed over the trouble a whole team of servants had gone to to make her look presentable tonight.

A troupe of seamstresses in Paris had spent over a month working on the white diamond encrusted gown she now wore, and Brielle wondered it had not taken them longer. The bodice was a masterpiece of rippling lace and carefully placed pink pearls which formed a garden of flowers sweeping down from the neckline to her hips. A flashing scarlet panel winked out of the front of the pearly silk skirts. Evidently the skirts alone had taken up over sixty yards of the finest silk the City of Light had to offer, or so the rumors stated.

And though the dress was a shining example of what the power of vast amounts of money could buy, it was only the beginning to the trouble generated for the party. The house had been in an uproar for weeks as parades of decorators and cooks constantly trooped in an out, giving advice and taking down the exact directions of the lord of the manner. Brielle could only stand on the sidelines; too unsure of the processes involved to voice her opinion.

Finally, to top off the entire surreal experience, two young serving girls had worked on her hair for four hours before feeling the outcome to be satisfactory. Evidently, Andrew had put the fear of God into all of France over this party; he wanted everything to be perfect for her, and he wanted her to be perfect for all of his friends as well.

Over the last six months Brielle had done her best to meet his expectations, to become the perfect fiancé. In a way she felt she owed Andrew the fulfillment of his wishes, since even in the deepest reaches of her heart she could not be moved to love him. Even when the evidence of his deep and unyielding affection grew every day, Brielle could not muster up a truly happy smile; his gifts and compliments were usually met with cool interest and polite gratitude.

Guilt over her lacking and deadened heart drove the Irish woman to compensate in other areas of her life. She was only just now realizing how much of herself she was killing to accomplish this feat, the caring self taught doctor, the dogged researcher, the fiery tempered single mother had all been trampled to death under the heel of her newest role. The life she had made for herself as an English lord's wife-to-be was stifling.

At Andrew's request Brielle had packed a few belongings and moved her small and broken family into the Donovan manner house. It was surprisingly easy to leave her comfortable cottage. Too many memories now lived there for her to remain within the residence any longer, the walls had come to breathe unhappiness, the mirrors reflecting the image of a man she desperately wished to forget. At her arrival in her new home, Andrew had discreetly removed himself to the penthouse suite of a hotel he owned in Paris.

The poor man was constantly worrying about protecting her from the gossip mill of the Parisian aristocrats. He patiently put up with her unpolished social skills and constantly covered her blunders with smooth talking and flashing smiles. And though the young lord could not fathom her innate shyness around groups of strangers he always made sure to stay by her side through every awkward introduction, becoming fiercely protective of her if he detected even the smallest slight fall from his peers' mouths.

But despite Andrew's protection and guidance, it was the gossiping more than the confines of her new position in society which slowly put an end to her volunteer work at the veteran's hospital. Apparently one of Andrew's associates had caught a glimpse of her bathing a young soldier there one day. The news of her terribly unorthodox behavior had been passed through the parlors of Paris's rich within a matter of days. Andrew did not mention the incident to her directly, but she had overheard him arguing heatedly with the one man foolish enough to pass the news on to him. Brielle had not returned to the hospital since that day - she would not force Andrew to lose friends for her sake.

Brielle was grateful that her fiancé had not asked her to give up those things she loved most; if he had she knew she would have come to resent him. Rather his snarling guard over her oddities created an unexpected grateful affection within her. He didn't ask her to change herself, and because of that she willingly conformed to the rigors of his lifestyle. Her days now consisted of quiet reflection and ladylike pursuits acceptable to a woman of high class. It was a wonder that noble born women did not constantly lose their minds; she was so bored with this new life that she could cry, but she couldn't complain because it was her choice in the first place to make the change.

Sighing tiredly Brielle moved away from the mirror, gracefully making her way out into the hallway where the sound of the party downstairs just reached her ears. Another wave of sickening terror welled up within her chest for a moment as the echoing laughter of dozens of people floated past her. Turning her face away from the sounds she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of one eye.

A half smile softened the hard lines of Brielle's worried face at the sight of her daughter standing solemnly in the middle of the hallway behind her. "What are you doing out of bed? Did you have a bad dream, love?" Nodding her dark head silently in answer to her mother's question, Aria's large eyes slowly dropped to the floor.

Her snowy eyebrows lowering in concern, Brielle moved to stand before Aria. Reaching out gently, she smoothed a hand over the child's head. "Do you want to tell me what it was about? It would make you feel better."

Waiting a beat Brielle gazed down at Aria's ashen face, but only silence greeted her inquiry. _By now you would think I would stop expecting something different._ She thought sadly as she placed a kiss on the child's forehead. "Go back to your room and I will come up and read you a story in an hour. By then I will be able to escape from the party."

Raising her large gray eyes to Brielle's, Aria simply stared forlornly at her mother in silence before shrugging off the hands on either side of her face. Stonily the child turned and retreated back down the hallway, disappearing around a corner before Brielle could even call after her. Growling in frustration Brielle fisted her hands at her sides, the sudden urge to break something filling her being until she was sure she would burst. _Sometimes I just want to shake her! Shake the memory of that blasted man right out of her head. Maybe then she would speak to me again…_

"Madame…" a hesitant voice called from the stairway, interrupting Brielle's thoughts.

Irritated Brielle whirled around on the young serving girl standing upon the staircase. "What is it?" she snapped.

Jumping at the tone of her mistress's voice, the girl nearly lost the ruffled dust cap off the top of her head. Slapping a hand up to secure the white cap the dark eyed girl smiled nervously stepping up onto the landing. "Lord Donovan requests your presence downstairs."

Raising a hand to adjust the diamond tiered necklace pulling heavily at her throat, Brielle nodded ever so slightly. "Of course, I was just on my way," she murmured as she delicately lifted the hem of her skirts and walked toward the stairs. Pausing just beside the young servant just before stepping down the first step, Brielle guiltily ran her top teeth over her bottom lip. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that," she began uneasily, still not sure of the proper etiquette between mistress and servant.

Blushing at the unexpected apology, the girl ducked her head. "I understand you are worried about the little miss. If you like I can sit with young Miss Donovan until you return."

"That is very kind of you. Yes, please do," Brielle replied, a small level of relief lightening her features. Stepping carefully down the first flight of stairs, she could hear the young girl patter down the hall at her back. Making her way past well appointed side rooms and gaily decorated passages, Brielle weaved her way through the house, making her way toward the raucous laughter bursting out of the main ballroom.

Taking a steadying breath she stopped just around the corner, her heart pounding painfully against the glittering diamonds resting upon her breast. _I can do this…It isn't hard at all. All I have to do is talk to people. I can do this. Don't be a coward Brielle!_ Her courage bolstered a degree, the white haired woman quickly swept around the corner before the panic could set in once again.

_I can do this. I can do this, _she repeated religiously within her head as her eyes swept over the crowds milling around the ballroom doors. _I can do this. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

One Hour Later:

A small group of bejeweled heiresses crowded around the newest member to their ranks with twittering intensity. For the first time since the announcement of the shocking engagement in the society pages, Lord Donovan had momentarily stepped aside, leaving his lovely fiancé deliciously alone. The heiresses and noblewomen flocked around the exotic woman, they smelled fresh blood.

"Tell me, my dear," a plump dowager crooned. "Is it true that your mother was an _actress_ in a London Theater?" After stating the rude question, the woman raised a purple feather fan to wave before her face and hide the nasty smile forming upon her face.

Brielle looked with longing past the sharp-eyed older woman, wishing to escape out the ballroom doors across the dance floor. The near empty glass of champagne in her hand felt overly heavy as she brought it to her lips in an attempt to stall for time. Her face was as cold, as silent as the snow falling outside in response to the razor edged interest of this woman's question, though her thoughts turned blazingly hostile. _God damned blasted woman. Trying to ask the poor little Irish shoe brush with all amounts of kindness exactly how low her parentage truly is. Stupid, stuffy, pompous old bitch! _

"I don't wish to bore you all with old stories of my mother's fame in Britain," Brielle began, her quiet snowdrift voice seeming to freeze the old biddies in mid-breath. "After all, I know so many of your family histories are so much more colorful."

"How so?" A pretty little debutante inquired quickly, missing the tension in the air, as she had just stumbled upon the chattering group.

Gesturing with her glass idly, Brielle motioned toward the old dowager in peacock purple. "Well as I understand it the Aldridge family, for example, first made their fortune by plundering churches on the way back from the Crusades. Isn't that so Madame?" she finished, raising her snowy eyebrows in polite inquiry toward the fuming noblewoman.

When the chubby older lady stormed off without replying, Brielle simply shrugged as if unaware of the offensive nature of her statement; blinking in disbelief the other women in the group fell silent, their bitter comments withering within their mouths before ever being voiced. Feeling terribly smug over her small triumph, the white haired woman finished off her glass of champagne and set the empty glass on a waiter's passing tray. Actually, with the adrenaline pumping through her veins and the alcohol bubbling merrily in her head, Brielle didn't feel quiet so self-conscious.

She would have continued to politely and subtly upbraid the sputtering fools, but the sight of a neatly combed head of dark hair set above strangely familiar shoulders stopped her in her tracks. _Erik…_the name, the hope, popped into her head before she could stop it. Eyes widening in stunned silence, Brielle hastily excused herself from the women around her and set off across the ballroom. Without thinking of the absurdity of her actions she stalked the man through the crowds, on the verge of calling out to him when that painfully familiar dark head turned toward her, revealing a stranger's face. The leaden drop in her stomach was instantaneous, and if her corset had allowed for it she would have bent double with the pain of her mistake. _It must be the alcohol…making me see him in others. It must be the alcohol. I've forgotten him. I've forgotten that bastard. _

Raising an unsteady hand to cover the tremble in her lips Brielle carefully moved out of the mingling crowds to a back corner where she could catch her breath. Snagging another bubbling glass of champagne she stood quietly against the wall, gulping down the sweet tasting nectar within the span of a few minutes. A second wave of alcohol laced euphoria crept its way through her system, calming the churning pain within her gut.

Brielle was so wrapped up in trying to clear her thoughts that she didn't even hear the approach of heavy footsteps until a long fingered hand wrapped gently about her upper arm. She jumped so violently at the unexpected touch that the hand instantly released.

"Sweet Mary, Bri, you nearly knocked me right in the nose flinging your hands about like that!" Conner exclaimed loudly, unmindful of the half a dozen sidelong glances shooting their way. "I mean sure we left on a disagreement last time we saw each other, but I didn't expect to be attacked," he continued lightly, leaning forward to kiss his gaping sister upon the forehead.

"Conner!" Brielle exclaimed with the first true delight she had displayed in months. Wrapping her arms around her brother's neck she squeezed the redhead until the man was gasping for breath. Releasing him she stepped back, still keeping both of his hands within hers. "I didn't think you would come. You made sure to say how upset you were with my decision to marry Andrew. And you never answered any of my letters!"

The lighthearted smile upon his face fading slightly under a veil of confusion, Conner cocked his head thoughtfully to the side. "Of course I would come to support my sister before her wedding day. Nothing would ever keep me from it. Not even my deep and abiding hatred for the groom would keep me away…"

Frowning at where his words were going, Brielle released Conner's hands in dismay. "Please Conner…for the one hundredth time do not speak ill of Andrew. I am going to marry the man for goodness sake!"

Waving a dismissive hand the red head took a breath. "My apologies…but what did you mean when you said I didn't answer any of your letters?"

Pulling her brother after her, Brielle led them out of the main ballroom and into a side hallway where she could talk without worrying about prying ears. Her mood shifting unexpectedly, she suddenly found herself angry at her brother's unannounced appearance. "I wrote you every week for months and you didn't even have the decency to write me back once! I mean I know you were mad at me for accepting Andrew's offer, but I never expected you to act so coldly and not visit. Especially since I needed support after…well after…" Clearing her throat, Brielle turned away from her brother.

Silence stretched taut between the siblings as Brielle ran her fingers over the heavy coolness of the jewels at her neck. In the reflection of a picture frame, she watched her brother's shadowed figure draw up behind her. The light pressure of his hand upon her shoulder brought her reluctantly around to face him again.

"Brielle…" he began slowly. "I never received any letters from you. I thought it was you who were angry at me for what I said about Andrew. I only came here tonight because I heard from someone else that there was to be a holiday party in honor of your upcoming wedding."

Shocked by what Conner was revealing, Brielle shook her head. "No, that can't be right. I wrote your invitation personally. You had to have gotten it!"

A dark, murderous cloud slowly darkened Conner's normally bright emerald eyes to a dangerous forest green. "And who did you have mail those letters Brielle? It was Andrew wasn't it! The pig has never liked me, but I wouldn't have thought he would go to such lengths to keep me away!"

Unwilling to hear such outlandish accusations, Brielle pushed past her fuming brother and stormed back towards the main ballroom. All happiness at her wayward brother's return vanished into thin air, only to be replaced with an alcohol laced temper. "I will not listen to such foolishness. Just because you can't take responsibility for giving me the wrong address, AGAIN, you will not spew trash about my fiancé."

Following quickly on his sister's heels, Conner reached out and grabbed hold of her arm, forcibly spinning her around to face him. "One day you won't be able to cover up that man's wickedness. One day you will regret joining yourself to him when you should have dropped everything and gone after…"

The silk covered hand Brielle suddenly brought across Conner's left cheek cut the man off in mid-sentence. Shocked by her violent action, the redhead released her and stepped back a pace, a hand quickly coming up to cover the offended cheek. "What! What!" she demanded madly, taking several more swings at Conner's still form. "I should have what Conner? I should have run off after that damned man, right! Is that what you were going to say?"

Looking slightly sheepish for blurting out something he had not meant to say, Conner clenched his jaw as he lowered his eyes to his boots. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Damn it Conner! Why can you never grow up? I know da died when we were both so young but you cannot act like a child forever. You can't chase skirts and drink you way around Europe for the rest of your life!"

A violent angry flush worked its way up the redhead's cheekbones at her words, darkening his expression to a brooding fury. Unknowingly Brielle had stumbled upon an old wound, cracking her brother's good nature as throuoghly as if she had taken a sledge hammer to him. Conner took one stiff step toward his sister, his hands coming up at if he wanted to throttle her at that very moment. "Why not, Bri? What is stopping me? After all you are grown up enough for the both of us," he hissed, with uncharacteristic venom. "Responsible, dependable Brielle. Who couldn't do anything wrong even if she tried and is oh so correct in everything she does. Give me a break Bri! You deal with your life by marrying whoever you see fit, but leave my decisions the hell alone!"

"Get out…" Brielle murmured, eyes wide with angry hurt. "Get out of this house!"

"Gladly…" Conner sniffed, sweeping past the trembling form of his little sister and down the deserted hallway. "I would wish you happiness with your new husband, but it would be against my religion to give my consent to a union between my sister and a letter stealing demon! I can't believe you have been stupid enough to believe him!"

"GET OUT!" Brielle screamed, snatching up a porcelain figurine and flinging it after Conner's retreating form. When he disappeared around a corner and left her alone in the quiet hall Brielle wrapped her arms protectively about her waist, the pain beating to life once again, swimming upstream of the champagne still bubbling in her blood. The urge to cry made her eyes sting, but no tears fell down her burning cheeks. She didn't think she had any more tears to shed.

Spinning blindly Brielle raced back toward the crowded ballroom, unable to bear the silence of the empty hallway a moment more. _What is wrong with me…why did I say those things?_ Bursting through the ballroom doors, pale and agitated, Brielle disappeared among the mingling crowds, glad suddenly for the noise, the anonymous faces swirling around her. She had to think away from the lonely silence of the monstrously huge house. The words her brother had said repeated over and over in her head.

_And who did you have mail those letters, Brielle! _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Late That Night:

In her night dress Brielle crept like a burglar from her daughter's bedroom, the white lace of her hem whispering softly against the carpet in the hallway. Soon after Conner's angry departure Brielle had excused herself from the party, looking in on Aria as she had promised to do. As the hours had ticked by the white haired woman had listened to the party downstairs draw to a close. Now, with the house sleeping all around her, Brielle tiptoed barefoot down the dark hallways and corridors of the mansion.

Glancing at a large grandfather clock as it loomed up out of the shadows before her, Brielle cursed quietly. _What am I doing…this is crazy,_ she thought to herself as she hurriedly descended a dim staircase to the first floor. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs she nervously looked around her, the creepy sensation that someone was watching her sending the hairs along her arms standing on end. _Don't be silly, everyone is asleep. _

_Not like I am doing anything wrong anyway. I do live here now. If I want to take a stroll in the middle of the night that is my business…_shaking her head at her poor excuse Brielle left the stairs and raced down several more black halls until she stood shifting from foot to foot outside the darkened doorway of Andrew's office. _Not that I believe a word Conner said tonight…I am only going to take a quick look around to prove Andrew isn't somehow stealing my mail. It is so foolish I should go back to bed right now…_But she remained where she stood, her hand hovering over the doorknob.

Taking a deep breath, which sounded strangely loud to her ears, Brielle gave the cool brass knob a careful twist only to find the room locked. Having expected this, the Irishwoman reached back and pulled a hairpin from the loose braid hanging down her back. Bending the tips of the pin, Brielle knelt down until she was crouched eye level with the keyhole. Sticking the modified pin into the opening, the white haired woman carefully turned the makeshift key about within the hole, her ear pressed close to the door. Sticking out her tongue in concentration, Brielle gave the pin one final twist, smiling in triumph as a sharp metallic click echoed through the air.

Standing slowly, she took hold of the knob again and pushed the now open door inward. Hesitantly, she walked into the hallowed walls of Andrew's private office, a space she had never dared to enter before. Shaking off her anxiety, Brielle hurried to the massive oak desk sitting along one side of the room. _I am absolutely crazy…I must be crazy. Why would Andrew not mail my letters? _

Pulling open the drapes behind the desk to let in the pearly moonlight, Brielle quickly turned from the window and sat down in Andrew's leather wingback chair. Opening first one drawer and then another she quietly rifled through several stacks of papers, all the while feeling terribly silly. Tapping her fingers on the smooth top of the desk, she almost convinced herself to stand up and leave even as she reached down and pulled open one last drawer. Leaning forward she gazed down into the space, disbelief slowly passing over her features as she picked up a stack of unopened letters, all of them with her brother's name and address neatly printed on the front. The horror of what she was seeing in front of her very eyes was just beginning to pass over her face as Brielle pulled the letters from the drawer and placed them atop the desk with numb fingers.

When the gas lights suddenly flashed on all around the room Brielle nearly jumped out of her skin, but it wasn't until she raised her eyes to the man in the doorway and the expression on his face that a real spike of fear jumped up into her throat.

Andrew frowned across the room at her, his dark eyes reflecting the gas light a hundred times over. He took a single graceful step into the room, slowly swinging the door shut behind him. "What are you doing in here, Brielle?" he asked quietly, his gaze turning to the pile of letters on the desk.

Not allowing the chills racing up her spine to subdue the fury now boiling up within her Brielle jumped to her feet, grabbing up a fist full of the unopened letters in a white knuckled grip. "What are these Andrew? Why did you keep all of my letters! You had no right to do that!"

Clearing his throat calmly, the young lord walked forward into the room. "I didn't want to tell you this because you were having such a hard time a few months ago, but Conner had become increasingly unpredictable. He was constantly trying to…"

"I don't believe you!" she shouted, interrupting the dark eyed man's cool explanation. "There is no possible reason you could give me for this!" Balling up the letters in her hands, Brielle hurled them at her fiancé. Coming around the desk, her white braid swinging behind her, the Irish woman shook a finger under Andrew's nose.

"Stop that…" he stated slowly, his beetle black eyes following the wild gesticulating of both of her hands. When Brielle ignored the subtle warning in those two words Andrew grabbed hold of her wrist, squeezing it a little harder than necessary. "I said stop it!" he hissed, his fingers closing ever tighter around her delicate arm. "If you must know I didn't care for the way your brother was always sneering at me behind my back. And so I thought if you didn't hear from him in a while I wouldn't have to put up with his annoying presence." His face softened slightly, then he smiled down at her. "Besides we couldn't have all of your family tagging along on our honeymoon now, could we?"

"I can't believe you! I can't believe you would manipulate us like that. You had no right!"

"I believe I just explained my reasoning," he stated, the smile falling from his face. "Now I am willing to forgive you for breaking into my office. So now this discussion is over."

"No it is not over! How do I know that you haven't been doing other things like this? How do I know that you…" her voice strangled off into horrified silence as a terrible thought flickered into the forefront of her mind. With every drop of color draining from her features, she turned wide searching eyes up to his face. "Did you have anything to do with the way Erik left?" she whispered aghast, the enormity of the situation building within her by the second. "Did you do something to make him leav-"

The blow came out of nowhere, rattling Brielle's teeth within her head as stars flashed before her eyes. Dizzily she turned her face upwards, Andrew's black bottomless eyes filling up her vision until nothing remained outside of them. The pressure around her wrist tightened.

"I told you the conversation is over."


	35. Truth is Stranger Than Fiction

**Hey everyone. Hey is the next installment for your enjoyment. I don't have a ton of stuff to announce this week so this note will be short. Another big thanks to Juliana for her lovely editing skills. Also thanks to all of you who have kept reviewing for me. I really like hearing from you all every week. Some of you suggestions are very helpful!**

**Finally I would like to say, without being corny or anything, that our thoughts are with those of the Katrina disaster. And I urge everyone who can to help out in anyway they see fit. **

**That is it. Enjoy the chapter!**

Chapter 35: Truth is Stranger than Fiction

The blow had come out of nowhere, catching Brielle so off guard that she would have fallen to her knees had it not been for the iron-like grip around her wrist. Raising her free hand up to her burning cheek, she snapped her head up to stare stunned at Andrew's calm face. A flicker of something like surprise flashed behind his dark eyes, as if he were just as surprised by the blow as she was. But the moment was brief and soon passed. The pressure around her wrist tightened.

"I told you the conversation is over," he stated firmly, a vertical line appearing between his dark brows. Waiting a beat Andrew carefully watched Brielle's bone white face, when she did not argue the young lord loosened his grip on her wrist, helping her straighten. Tenderly, he brushed the very tip of one finger along the red welt on Brielle's cheek. Sucking in a pained gasp the white haired woman flinched back a step, her gray eyes large and wary as a cornered animal's.

Concern and regret deepened the frown on Andrew's handsome face at her reaction. He dropped his hand back to his side, the flatness in his black eyes retreating as the guilt swamped his features. "I didn't mean to do that. I am sorry…I didn't mean to do that. The last thing I want is to hurt you."

"You hit me…" Brielle whispered in disbelief as she took several more hasty steps back. "How could you do that?"

Raising a hand to rake through his neatly combed hair, Andrew turned his eyes to the floor in shame. "I am sorry…I don't know what happened. I would never hurt you! I love you, Brielle."

Bumping up against the desk behind her, Brielle halted her retreat. The mind numbing shock slowing her every thought left her nearly paralyzed,(;) she could only stare across the room at Andrew as he turned and leaned a hand on the wall, his head hanging down low. Once again she raised a shaking hand to clutch protectively at her burning face as her eyes followed his every movement. A suffocating silence fell over the room until even the tiniest sounds were amplified to extraordinary levels. The wet hissing of the gas lamps and the metallic clicking of Andrew's pocket watch melded together, creating a sinister background beat to the tension already in the room.

With a curse, Andrew swung around and advanced across the room toward where Brielle stood pressed against the solid form of his desk. The man's cheeks were stained a violent scarlet, his eyes bright as burning coal as he sighed heavily. "This was all just a mistake," he said finally, trying to lighten the tone of his voice. "I have never lost my temper like that before and it will never happen again. I swear! I have loved you since the moment I first saw you. You know that!"

Holding perfectly still Brielle gripped the edge of the desk behind her. She saw Andrew's lips moving in speech, but his words were lost in the buzzing within her head. Though the stinging in her face was fading, the young woman couldn't wrap her brain around the situation happening right before her eyes. She had known Andrew for ten years and in that time he had never spoken an unkind word to her. How could that man, who had supported her after John's death, be the same as the one standing before her now, apologizing for hitting her? They couldn't be the same. It was almost as if the Andrew she knew possessed a completely alien side to him. _Or maybe I never really knew him at all. _

As Andrew's lengthy and logical apology drew to an end, Brielle found herself wanting to accept everything he said. As she stood there practically able to feel the bruise swelling to life on the side of her face, a cowardly voice in her brain began to whisper seductively in her ear. _Look how sheepish he looks now. The poor man is beating himself up over this little mistake. He apologized…he feels terrible. The letters…everything is a misunderstanding. It was a misunderstanding… _

Nodding her head slightly in response to her internal monolog Brielle lowered her gaze to the floor. It was impossible to think with her eyes locked with Andrew's imploring stare. _It was a mistake…a mistake, forget about it and it will never happen again. It was a mistake._

Slowly opening her mouth, stretching out her jaw, Brielle began to frown, her brain began to clear. The truth of the situation began to sink in. _No…that isn't right…this isn't alright…it is not alright…_shouted another voice, a stronger voice, one that she was used to. The coward within her withered under the intensity of the old spirit she had been suppressing for months. It didn't take long for fury over what Andrew had done to take hold. Brielle's legendary temper was coming back full force.

As anger swept aside the fuzziness in her head, Brielle brought her eyes back up to Andrew's. He was waiting for a response. And as she pursed her lips pushing away from the desk, the Irish woman was ready to give him one. "It was not a mistake, Andrew. You are an adult! There is no possible reason you can give me which I will accept for you laying your hands upon me like that!"

Shocked by her unexpected display of aggression, Andrew could only blink at his fiancée as she stabbed a finger at him through the air. It was obvious from his blank expression that he had been waiting for quiet acceptance from her. This was the first time since their engagement that her temper had shown through. Andrew didn't seem to know what to make of it. "And I will have you know Andrew that no amount of apologies will sweep this aside!"

"Brielle, why are you acting like this? I said I was sorry. What else do you expect me to do?" Andrew replied, the sheepish expression on his face melting away into a sour glare. The corners of his mouth tensed as he folded his arms across his chest.

Brielle could practically see the wheels turning in his brain. _He is wondering right now what odd distemper has overtaken me. I should have stuck up for myself more. I shouldn't have led him to believe that I would always agree with him. He has always said he loves me…but is it really me he loves or the person I have been projecting? Gah! What a fool I have been. _

Feeling as if she were acting like herself for the first time in months Brielle allowed her temper to build within her, glad to finally feel something other than the numbness she had been operating under since she had accepted Andrew's proposal. Slowly Brielle fisted her hands upon her hips, feeling strangely giddy from the familiar movement. She was ready for a fight, but was Andrew? "You can tell me what my personal letters to my brother are doing in YOUR desk," she snapped, each word shooting out of her mouth fast and dangerous as a flying bullet.

"Brielle…" Andrew began, his tone easily slipping into a patronizing sigh. "Come on now. Do we have to go into all of that now? It is late and you should get to bed." The annoyance was sneaking back into his dark eyes along with alarm. He had never had to face this side of her before.

"You can answer me when I ask you if you had anything to do with Erik's hasty departure," Brielle continued as if he hadn't even spoken, the color returning to her face as she took another step forward and shook her fist under Andrew's nose. A spark of stark fury flickered like candlelight behind his eyes for the briefest of moments at the mention of Erik's name, but the emotion was tamped down so quickly that Brielle hardly had time to recognize it, or to fear it. "Answer me!"

Crossing his arms over his chest while he regarded Brielle's outburst with coolly irritated eyes, Andrew stood his ground. The momentary crack in his calm demeanor now firmly sealed. "I will not submit to this childishness now Brielle. It is late. You should…"

"Stop telling me what I should do." she hissed. "I am sick of it."

The young lord's eyes narrowed at her uncooperative response. In one swift movement, Andrew had the rebelling woman by the arm and was dragging her out of the office. "You will do as I say. You are my fiancée. You will do as I say and go to bed!"

"No I will not, you arrogant bastard! I have given you free rein up till now because I trusted your judgment, but I refuse to be your silent simpering bride any longer! Listen to me when I talk!" Digging in her bare heels, Brielle tried to pry Andrew's fingers from around her wrist. "Let go. We need to talk about this…tell me the truth!"

Turning to look over his shoulder, Andrew sent her a glare so cold it could have split a tree down the middle. "Sometimes it is better for the truth to remain buried, Brielle," he stated coolly as he barreled onward, dragging her in his wake toward the darkened stairs.

Running now to keep up with his dogged pace, Brielle continued to pull at his grip around her arm. "My father used to say that everything that happens in the dark eventually comes to light. Tell me the truth now or I will find out for myself. This is important to me, Andrew. I turned my brother out of the house because I was defending you!" Her voice echoed eerily loud in the silent blackness of the hallway.

Pausing on the bottom stair, one hand firmly anchored on the railing, Andrew tilted his head to the side in thought. "Did you really?" he murmured to himself, an odd dark pleasure trickling into his eyes. "How deliciously unexpected."

"What did you just say?"

Starting as if he had forgotten she was there, the young lord quickly glanced at her face before turning and starting back up the staircase. The slope of his shoulders suddenly relaxed as she stared at his back, and through the hold he had upon her arm Brielle felt a certain level of tension slide out of his grip. Mysteriously Andrew's mood lightened, he flashed her a brief smile as he slowed his pace.

Releasing Brielle's wrist, Andrew stopped his ascent and turned to gaze down at her. "I suppose I do owe you an explanation," he finally sighed, his attitude now back to the open and patient man she had come to know. The complete turnaround from only moments ago was mystifying. Something must have changed his mind.

"I suppose I should start with why your brother's letters were in my desk." Pursing his lips and jabbing his hands into his pockets, Andrew leaned a hip against the stair railing. "I didn't want to have to tell you this because I was afraid it would hurt your feelings. Those letters were in my possession because they were all sent back. The address on them was wrong, evidently. I figured Conner must have moved without telling you again and I didn't want you to have to worry about it with the wedding coming up in a few weeks." Shrugging his shoulders, Andrew cast his eyes to the ground. "Seeing how upset you are, I know now I should have told you a long time ago. What else can I say other than that I made a mistake?"

Dislodging one hand from his pocket to come up and brush across Brielle's jaw, Andrew flashed a sheepish smile. "Is that truthful enough for you? Is there anything else you need to know about?"

Going over the explanation in her head Brielle remained silent, her eyes searching Andrew's features for any sign of deception only to find none; his dark eyes were fixed steadily upon her face, revealing nothing in the dim light. His reasoning was likewise airtight; there was nothing wrong with a single word he had said.

Conner's occupation required a great deal of moving and he often left a city without telling his little sister. It wasn't that he didn't care or didn't want her to know where he was, but rather that he was an addle-brained musician. He had never really grown up after their father's death, choosing to spend his days dancing through life and chasing skirts. Ignoring the existence of pain in the world was his way of dealing with his own. _I shouldn't have called him childish. That was mean of me…he did take care of me as best he could before I married John. _

That same cowardly voice in her mind which had wished to disregard Andrew's boorish behavior that evening jumped upon her uncertainty, once again offering the easy way out of all this confusion. _That is right. Conner must have forgotten. I don't know why I got so upset, I should have thought of that myself. Besides, why would Andrew want to steal my letters? That is just silly. Andrew has always taken care of me…he has always been kind…_

But this time the siren song could not fully penetrate her consciousness; Brielle had caught on to this deceptive whispering. Pushing the simpering voice in her head aside, the white haired woman frowned up at Andrew as he patted her shoulder before turning and continuing up the staircase. He had taken her momentary silence as the end of the conversation.

Picking up the hem of her night dress and following the young lord up the stairs Brielle opened her mouth once again. "Thank you for explaining that to me," she started as she came up behind him on the landing.

Smiling brightly, Andrew shrugged. "I am glad we were able to work this misunderstanding out. It made me very uncomfortable to fight with you but it did teach me I must keep a closer rein on my temper. Things can get back to normal now…only I will try to be more honest with you. When something important happens you will know about it."

Clasping her hands together at her waist, Brielle nodded soberly. "I am glad you feel that way, because I have one more question to ask you."

His teeth flashing bright in the dim light, Andrew smiled benevolently down at her. "Absolutely, feel free to ask me anything," he said lightly.

Without missing a beat, her expression as flat and cool as the winter landscape outside, Brielle voiced the last suspicion flickering through her head. "You did not answer me when I asked you if you had anything to do with the way Erik left. Did you?"

There was a moment of silence following her inflammatory question, even in the darkness Brielle could see the good humor in Andrew's face slip away. The change of the young lord's expression was instantaneous, his mouth pinched shut, his eyebrows came down, and his eyes glittered dangerously. Feeling suddenly ill at ease, Brielle hastily inched back a step until her heel met the edge of the stair behind her.

"That man left of his own free will. I did not throw him out of the house. I was ill at the time if I remember correctly."

Despite the palpable edge floating in the space between them, Brielle did not waver. Doggedly she continued. "Yes, but I remember there was something about a letter which upset him before he left. Funny that it was a letter which upset him and nothing else isn't it? When just today I find out about my letters being in your possession."

Clenching his fists tightly to his sides, Andrew turned sharply away from her. "Erik…Erik…Erik…Why can I never be rid of that blasted name!" he ground out vehemently, his shoulders practically shaking with the force behind each word. "It is just like John…over and over nothing seems to get rid of that blasted name except to just…" The words cut off suddenly then, Andrew straightening slightly as if an insightful thought had just struck him.

Shifting from foot to foot on the cool marble landing Brielle listened intently, her own brows dropping down until she stood glaring at her fiancé's back. Familiar warning bells began to bong to life inside her head. She could feel that she was missing something drastically important. _What is he talking about? What is just like John?_

Driven to action by the intensity of the trepidation ringing between her ears, Brielle took a step forward and carefully took hold of Andrew's tensed arm. "Andrew, you must tell me. I cannot marry a man who is prone to keeping things from me."

Turning his head toward the sound of her voice Andrew gazed down at the floor, his eyes fixed so sharply that Brielle expected the runner to burst into flames. The angular planes of his profile appeared grayish in the oppressive darkness of the manor as the man continued to stare off into space. "You…cannot…marry me?" came an agonized whisper.

"No, not if you are going to act like…"

Interrupting Brielle, Andrew slowly turned to face her, the blackness of his eyes fading into the night around him, giving his normally handsome face the maniacal eyeless look of a skull. "What more do I have to do for you! You ungrateful little Irish trollop!"

Outraged, Brielle tightened her grip around Andrew's upper arm. "How dare you call me a…"

With a flash of snarling white teeth Andrew brought his arm up, jerking free of Brielle's grip. The very tip of his elbow accidentally caught the Irish woman just above her chin as she hastily released him, effectively splitting her lower lip right down the middle. Startled by both his sudden action and the pain blossoming across her mouth, Brielle hastily stumbled backward a step. She brought both hands up to clutch at the blood now pouring from her face just as her heel came down on nothing but air.

Disoriented and bleeding, the white haired woman felt herself begin to tip backward into the darkness of the open stairway, her foot sliding off the edge of the top stair and down into nothing. Flinging out an arm Brielle desperately grasped at the banister, her nails digging into the smooth surface when the blood on her fingers made any sort of firm grip impossible.

Time slowed until it seemed it would stop as Brielle's hand slid from the banister, her heels fumbling down the stairs until finally losing their footing completely. Slowly, as she felt herself fall, she brought her eyes up to Andrew's. The young lord started, his mouth gaping open as if in a shout, before reaching out toward her and grabbing hold of her sleeve at the wrist. As Brielle's altered sense of time sputtered, then sped up, her sleeve ripped free of Andrew's grasp. She didn't have time to scream before her left hip smashed against the edge of a stair.

In a series of painful collisions Brielle rolled head over heels down the flight of stairs, coming to rest at the bottom with a moan, her head propped up against the bottom stair. Her vision collapsing in upon itself in a graying tunnel, she stared groggily upside down at the seemingly unending number of stairs. Andrew came barreling down toward her, shouting at the top of his lungs, just as the blackness completely overtook her sight. Taking a careful breath through the pain pulsing through every inch of her body, Brielle gave into the comforting embrace of the darkness

Her last conscious thought focused on a long gone happiness. _Erik…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The echo of a daring crescendo coming to an abrupt halt filled the darkest reaches of the vaults under the opera house. Erik's hands remained frozen above the keyboard, letting the sour notes echo away to nothing as he stared unseeing at the candelabra atop his newly repaired organ. Slowly animation returned to his limbs as he turned his head to the side with a frown, his hands slowly sliding from the ivory to his lap. Turning upon the smooth wood of his bench to cast his eyes about the main chamber of his dwelling, Erik searched the shadows where the candle light could not reach.

"Hello?" he called out to the empty room, feeling foolish when only the sad echo of his own voice answered.

Standing shakily Erik ran a hand over the left side of his face, his eyes still flickering about the room. _I could have sworn I just heard someone say my name…This solitude must finally be driving me mad. _Feeling as if something were crawling under his skin, the masked man vigorously rubbed at his arms. A sense of panicked dread clenched at his gut as he tried to get a hold of himself.

In the last month or so Erik had finally cured himself of the lingering need to be near people and once again retreated to the cool recesses of his underground domain. Down in the darkness of the opera's bottommost cellars he could finally be at peace, he could forget. No longer did he feel the pull of people living and working in the building above him. He was content now, on his own, or so he had thought. It wasn't a good sign if he was hearing voices. And worse yet, he was afraid he recognized the soft lilting way his name was said. He could have sworn a certain Irish woman was standing in the room with him. But thankfully his moment of insanity was brief. Even now as he stood staring out over the black water of the underground lake, his heart rate was returning to normal.

Tapping a finger against the cleft in his chin, Erik turned and snatched up a nearby lamp with his other hand. Feeling the sudden urge to move, the masked man stalked over to the edge of the dark water and jumped into a waiting boat. Poling quickly out into the quiet of the lake, Erik smiled grimly at the familiar burning between his shoulders. Without thinking about it he made his way silently through the shadowy vaults to the opposite edge of the lake. _Maybe I have been on my own too long. Perhaps it is time I spent an hour or two aboveground. Just to make sure I am not going completely crazy, _he thought as he tied off the boat.

Straightening, Erik plucked the lamp from the bow of the boat. Striding off into the darkness, he wove his way through a complicated series of stairs and corridors. With every flight he ascended he became increasingly aware of the muffled sounds of human life. Careful to stay in the darkest corners of the opera, away from prying eyes, Erik climbed his way upward until he sat perched in his favorite spot high above the stage.

By the relative desertion of the stage, he judged the hour to be rather late at night. Only a pair of cleaning ladies remained awake sweeping up the newly refinished stage. Sighing as he tilted his head to the side, he listened to the woman gossip between themselves. The familiar nasal tones of his native language were oddly therapeutic, relaxing the last vestiges of anxiety within his gut. _It isn't weak to need to hear another voice every once in awhile. I was wrong to stay away so long. _

One of the working women below him suddenly let out a shocked gasp, distracting him from his musings. Glancing downward, Erik couldn't help but listen in on their conversation, wondering what had startled the woman so.

"Everyone is talking about it. I can't believe you didn't get to see him!" the older of the two exclaimed, tapping her broom against the floor.

Frowning over at her coworker, the younger blonde woman shook her head with a shrug. "I had work to do. I didn't have time to stop and go gape at some man."

"What a foolish thing to say," the older woman chided. "And he wasn't just any man. He was very handsome. Red hair and the most lovely green eyes I have ever seen. Foreign too."

Sitting up straighter high over their heads Erik listened even harder, his interest piqued. _Foreigner with red hair and green eyes…that almost sounds like Conner. What a strange coincidence._

"Either way I was busy," the blonde huffed, pushing the dust into a neat pile. "What was some stranger doing wandering about the opera, anyway? We aren't open yet."

"Well what I heard from Maddie is that he came around asking for someone in particular who used to work here."

"There are a lot of people who USED to work here. After the fire half the staff quit. Who was he looking for?"

"You ever hear of some man named Erik who worked here before the fire, 'cause that is who he was asking about. I don't know if…" pausing then both women glanced curiously upward at an odd series of noises issuing from above. "Did you hear that?"

Erik covered his mouth with both hands to muffle the startled yelp from falling out of his mouth. The catwalk under him swayed at his jarring movements, the ropes creaking in protest. Sitting perfectly still, the sounds soon dissipated and the women below him laughed nervously. _It has to be a coincidence. Why would Conner come looking for me here? I didn't say I would come back… _Cursing silently, Erik remembered that he had once told the blasted man he had used to work at the Opera house. _Damn damn damn!_

Clearing her throat the older woman went back to her sweeping, lowering her voice slightly she continued where she left off. "He said this Erik character owed him money or something. And that if anyone knows where the man went they should let him know. You should have seen Madam Giry's face at the mention of that name. I thought she was going to faint dead away until the man mentioned about the money part. She seemed to relax after that. I guess the Erik she knew couldn't have owed that Irish man money," she finished with a shrug.

"What a strange story," the young blonde muttered as she bent to sweep a pile of dust into a pan.

_A strange story indeed, _Erik thought to himself as he quietly stood and stalked down the catwalk to a nearby ladder. _What the devil is Conner doing looking for me now, after all these months? I certainly don't owe that man any money. I wasn't stupid enough to ever play poker with him. _Dismissing the incident as a one time invasion, Erik decided not to worry about it any longer. Conner didn't know he had returned to the Opera, the man was only catching at straws. The fact that Erik was sure he had heard the redhead's sister's voice that very night was pushed aside as being a strange coincidence, nothing more.

_No need to worry about it any further. That part of my life is over. No need to worry…he won't be coming back. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Pain, bone crushing pain filled her mind as Brielle slowly worked her way toward consciousness. A ringing in her ears drowned out all outside sound except for the rhythmic beating of her own heart, but distantly like a half-formed thought, she heard a man's voice whispering in her ear. Vaguely recognizing the voice, Brielle sighed, enjoying the dream-like state. _John…_

"_Andrew it is good to see you again. I was sure you were posted miles from here. What are you doing here?" _murmured the first voice good-naturedly through the darkness.

"_I am…_" came a hesitant reply, from a likewise familiar voice. _"But I figured they could miss me for a few days so I could come down and visit my little brother."_

At this point the first voice, John's voice, laughed. _"I suppose that is a perk of being a Colonel rather than a lowly Major."_

"_Hmm…yes. Indeed," _Andrew replied vaguely as if he wasn't really paying attention. "_Brielle wrote me the other day," _he stated suddenly. _"She asked me to take care of you. She said she had been having very bad dreams lately. The poor dear. The poor, poor dear." _Annoyance crept into Andrew's voice, only to be followed by a weary kind of anger.

"_Yes she does worry too much. But I always tell her there is nothing to fret about," John_ replied slowly, as if he were wondering at his brother's odd tone.

There was a brief rustling of cloth before Andrew spoke again. "_I am afraid she does have something to worry about, John."_

"_What are you talking…" _The words cut off when a loud bang exploded in Brielle's ear.

Jerking into consciousness, Brielle gasped aloud. With her heart racing and her stomach rolling with oily waves of sickness, Brielle slowly opened her eyes. Blinking in the bright light streaming through the window, she moved to turn onto her side but stopped when a flash of pain licked up her side. Confused, she raised a hand to press against the throbbing in her head. The echoes of that terrifying dream still bounced around her skull. _What happened? What was that? It sounded like John and Andrew when they were in the army together…but that last part…that last part…_

"Ah I see you are awake. That is good," a calm voice murmured close to the edge to the bed.

Turning her head sharply, Brielle looked over at an older gentleman with large owl-like spectacles perched on the end of his nose. "Who are you? What happened?" she whispered hoarsely, trying to clear her head as she watched the stranger push his glasses back up his nose.

"It seems you had a tumble down the front stairs last night. Lord Donovan called upon me to see to your needs. I am Doctor Beaumont." Stopping there, the man stood and retrieved a small vial from a leather bag upon the floor. "I imagine you are in a great deal of pain. You cracked a rib and banged up your head fairly badly on your way down. I stitched up your lip and wrapped up your ribs. You are lucky you didn't break your neck."

Sitting in a chair next to the bed, the old doctor smiled over at her. "Open your mouth for a moment and I will give you something for the pain."

Eyeing the vial in his hands with suspicion Brielle wet her lips, wincing at the knotted stitches on her bottom lip. For a moment she considered refusing the offer, but another wave of agony from her ribcage sent every ounce of stubbornness out the window. Meekly she opened mouth and accepted the laudanum without a murmur of protest. Pulling a face at the bitterness of the drug Brielle thanked the old doctor, her gaze flickering fearfully about the room.

"Is Lord Donovan here?" she asked quietly, hoping beyond hope that the answer was no. Shaking his head, the old doctor began gathering his belongings.

As the old man packed up his medical kit, Brielle turned her thoughts to the night before. The exact details were still blurry, but she did remember two very important things. She remembered what had instigated the whole situation in the first place, when he hit her in a fit of fury. Secondly she recalled the dream of only moments ago. Thinking on what it could mean terrified her.

The truth of the dream was monumental, inconceivable even. Warning bells were ringing in a thunderous chorus within her skull every time she recalled the last three seconds of her auditory vision. In her addled state, her brain could not fully wrap around what would have been normally very clear. _How can this be true? This can't be right…They were brothers…Andrew would never have hurt John…_the coward in her murmured. _Besides Andrew wouldn't have a reason to hurt John. He was the heir to the Donovan name after all. He had no reason…_

Struggling to sit up against the mountain of pillows behind her, Brielle was grateful for the quick acting drug numbing the pain in her ribs. As Doctor Beaumont bade her goodbye, a terrible thought crept across her brain. _But he did have a good reason. He has always had a good reason for everything he has ever done in the last ten years. Me…what if he hurt John for me? What if he was so generous after his death not for his brother's memory but for me! _

Glad the good doctor was no longer in the room to see the expression of horrified understanding drain all the color from her features, Brielle raised a hand to cover the trembling beginning in her mouth. _He never answered about Erik…what if he was behind that as well? _Memories, which at the time had seemed completely innocuous, now loomed darkly on the fringes of her consciousness. _There have been so many accidents over the years. The day after John announced our engagement his favorite hunting dog was killed in a hunting accident. Andrew seemed so distraught because it was his gun that misfired. There are hundreds of other situations just like that! He was the one always pushing to have Aria sent away to school…God, how could I have been so blind! _

Panic set in. Her heart leapt up into her throat as she pulled her covers further up her chest with shaking hands. The unavoidable truth which had been hanging in front of her face for years finally refused to be explained away any longer. Andrew was not who he seemed to be; there was a darkness under his veneer of stern affection which only now was showing through the cracks. _I have to do something! What can I do! I drove Conner off…and Erik is gone. I have no one else to turn to! I can't stay here any longer!_

Through the confusion and horror warring within her head, Brielle suddenly knew one thing for certain. She had to get out of the house as soon as possible. She had to get away from Andrew before he lost his temper again.


	36. Fear

**Hey everyone! Sorry this chapter took so long to get to you. It is a bit longer than average so it took a bit longer to write. But enough of my excuses! Enjoy the chapter. And once again three cheers for Juliana! As always she has kept my writing from getting to clichéd. **

**Oh and just as a side note I have been noticing a recent decline in reviews. If I am boring you guys or something else please let me know. I do take everyone's suggestions seriously. So a big thanks to all of you who have been reviewing almost every chapter. You guys are the best!**

Chapter 36: Fear

Slowly Brielle opened her eyes, gazing about her bedroom in a drug induced stupor. Raising a hand from under the covers she pressed her palm against her temple; her head felt as if it were floating six feet above her body. Conscious thought floated in and out of focus, swimming upstream against the waves of laudanum in her bloodstream. At least the pain was being kept at bay.

_It is night again,_ she thought absently as she blinked about the darkened room. _How long has it been now? Is this the first night…or it is it the second? _It was amazing, really, how quickly time passed when one was not fully in control of their faculties.

Dropping her hand back to her side, Brielle turned sluggish eyes toward the snap of a match being struck near her bedside. Squinting at the offending light as the match danced brightly before her eyes, she watched mutely as invisible hands moved to light the candle on her bedside table. Andrew's face suddenly materialized out of the shadows as the candlelight spread in a small circle across the carpet. Pulling back from the unwelcome sight, Brielle inched away from him.

"Hello darling," Andrew crooned as he scooted his chair closer to her side. "I am glad to see you are awake. The dose of medication the doctor prescribed has kept you fairly quiet the last two days."

"Two days?" she mumbled vaguely, her heart beginning to skip fearfully within her chest. When Andrew's perfect white teeth flashed in the dim light Brielle felt the hairs along her arms stand on end. Something about his tone, his leering expression, sent warning shivers through her muddled head. A sharp sickening odor wafted across the small distance between them, stinging Brielle's nostrils as she struggled to name the dizzying smell.

"Yes, two whole days have passed," Andrew responded with a slight slur, his black eyes carefully following her every movement, "and I figured it was about time I came to talk to you about what happened. I feel terrible…"

"Are you drunk?" Brielle finally asked when dark eyed man swayed slightly in his chair.

A burst of laughter rocked Andrew's shoulders as he considered her question. "Why yes I believe I am," he finally replied, leaning an elbow on the edge of the bed. "I just kept hearing your scream as you fell – over and over in my head. I had to make it stop. Gin, I have found over the years, does a wonderful job of making unpleasant memories disappear." The flippant grin upon his face slipped from his mouth as he turned to stare fixedly at the candle upon the table.

"Yes, it has always done a fabulous job," he whispered, twin points of light reflecting in the empty darkness of his eyes. Slowly, as he continued to stare at the dancing flame, his hands closed into fists upon the bed. Closing his eyes with a strangled sigh, Andrew turned his face away from the light.

"What are you doing here? It is the middle of the night. You should go."

A crooked, broken smile cut across the young lord's face. Opening his eyes Andrew tilted his head to the side, carefully considering the signet ring on his right hand. "I have been thinking over what happened and I wanted to come and discuss it." He paused for a moment and looked around, only then seeming to notice the darkness of the late hour. "I didn't realize it was so late."

Once again leaning upon her bedside Andrew hovered close to Brielle's right shoulder, his chin cradled in one hand. "But since you are awake and I am already here, I don't see that it should matter. After all it is partially your fault, my worrying these last two days. You have no idea the agony that I have gone through. It has been terrible."

Fighting to sit up a little straighter Brielle frowned over Andrew's words, a burst of righteous fury leaking into the terror thrumming through her body. "_My_ fault that you have been worried? I didn't jump down those stairs for fun!"

Grimacing slightly at the anger in her tone, Andrew groped within his jacket for several moments before pulling out a hand-sized tankard from his pocket. Unscrewing the cap, the young lord tipped his head back and took several deep gulps of the liquid inside. Replacing the top on the sterling silver flask he laid it on the bed, within easy reach.

"I didn't push you if that is what you are trying to say," he stated flatly, his fingers tapping nervously upon the bed sheets. "That would have been a stupid thing to do considering how long I have been working to make you mine. I wouldn't risk losing you like that. I love you more than life itself…I always have."

Taking his hand off the silver flask, Andrew reached out to take Brielle's hand in his. When she snatched her fingers out of his grasp a dark cloud passed over his features. "It has taken me ten years to get this far and I'll be damned if I let anything get between us again, not even your own stubborn tendencies. If I have to lock you away until the day you die you will become my wife. I can't lose you. I can't."

"You are crazy," Brielle whispered, horrified by what she was hearing. "You can't be serious. What are you talking about locking me up?" Becoming more agitated Brielle swept a hand out, pushing against Andrew's chest. "How dare you threaten me like this? There is no apology you could make now that would make me forget all of the lies you have told. How could you even think I would still want to marry you!"

Her words hung heavily in the air between them as Andrew turned his eyes back to the candle burning down on the table. Something broke in his expression, turning it black and violent. He was quiet for a moment as his beetle black eyes watched the dancing flame with an almost maniacal intensity. Smoothing a hand through his inky black hair Andrew carefully climbed to his feet. Swaying only slightly, he turned his attention back to the woman lying in the bed.

"Did you think I was threatening you my love?" he asked slowly, a burst of laughter bubbling up from deep within his chest. "I haven't even begun to threaten you yet." Placing a knee onto the edge of the bed Andrew had Brielle's wrists pinned to the mattress before the Irish woman could mouth a word of protest. "In your worst nightmares you have no idea what I could do to you."

Struggling to free herself from his grip Brielle kicked out with her legs, only to find the effort to be just beyond her reach, the pain killers in her system effectively weighing her down. "Let go of me."

"No, I don't think I will ever let you go again. Now I have been lineate over the years. I let you explore a little and marry my ungrateful little brother. I recognized that you needed a little bit of freedom at the time and so I gave it to you. I was willing to wait for a more appropriate time. And I continued to wait after you buried him. That was fine because in the end I knew I would win. But now there no longer is any excuse…I am no longer willing to wait, or to share. I did not get rid of that Erik character for no reason, though I must admit the task was far easier than I had anticipated. The man was no more trusting than a caged animal. He must have been glad to be gone, free of your delicious charms."

Opening her mouth to spout some sort of venom at the man leaning over her Brielle was interrupted when a hand clamped over her lips, smothering any words she was about to say. "Yes I know, you think you won't marry me. I admit I used too much force to turn you into my arms, what can I say I was getting frustrated, but before you say anything let me tell you a little secret. While you have been sleeping these last two days I have gone to certain extremes to insure your continued affection. You see I know you so well that I knew you would try to back out of the wedding over our little disagreement. I have watched you for so long that I know your every thought. That is why I wrote to the team of lawyers who represent the Donovan estates, asking them to begin court proceeding in a custody suit."

A slow smile spread across Andrew's face as he watched the confusion wrinkle Brielle's brow. "You see mother has missed Aria terribly. She worries that her grandchild is being raised by a penniless Irishwoman and won't have the proper care. Likewise, it is terribly disturbing that one of the Donovan bloodline is being raised in your Catholic beliefs. Given those circumstances and my influence, I don't think it would be very difficult for me to take my brother's child right out from under your nose. And let me be clear about this…if you choose to fight me further you will never see your daughter again."

Stilling suddenly Brielle stared up at Andrew's shadowed face in disbelief, her mind struggling to understand the gravity of his statement. _This can't be real…this isn't right. This isn't how things are suppose to happen._ _When did everything go wrong? _

"Ah, I have finally gotten your full attention. You see now what I am willing to do for you…or to you. And that is not even half of it…" he hissed into Brielle's ear. "I could do hundreds of nasty things to you and no one would care, not the servants, not the police, no one. You are alone…you could scream at the top of your lungs for the rest of your life and no one would ever come to your aid. I am your only connection to the rest of the world. If I give the word you could disappear and no one would think twice about it." Breathing heavily, Andrew removed his hand from over Brielle's mouth, his body sagging slightly as his eyes rolled dangerously within his skull.

"My brother would care." Brielle exclaimed as soon as her lips were free. Arching her back she attempted to throw the drunken man off of her, but the movement only seemed to rouse him. Shaking his head Andrew's alcohol dulled eyes focused back on her face.

"I am sure he would, if he knew. But I don't think he will find out about your troubles anytime soon." Hiccupping slightly, Andrew grinned down at her. "Any other ideas?" As an expression of dazed horror crept over Brielle's face the black eyed man eased up on his grip, releasing her wrists and sitting up straight on the edge of the bed.

Shrinking back from the monster masquerading as the man she had known for ten years Brielle rubbed her wrists furiously, trying desperately to get the feel of his skin off of her own. The full weight of her current situation finally began to sink into her foggy brain. She was in a foreign country with no friends to speak of. Her fiancé was really a possessive, half-crazed madman, who apparently held no qualms about stealing her life right out from under her nose. _How did it come to this? When did things change? When did everything get out of control? This is not how my life is supposed to be!_

Struggling to hold onto her line of thought, Brielle fisted her hands in the bed sheets under her hands. _What can I do? There is nothing I can do! He could take everything from me and I can't do anything about it! I can't leave. I don't know anyone. There would be no one to help and where could I, a woman, find a job? If I left with Aria we might starve to death in the streets….I can't do anything! _Panic raced through her system coloring every thought with shadow, delivering her into a darkness she had not glimpsed since the day of John's death…since the day her last friend on earth rode off into the night. Struggling to breathe through the paralyzing glue of her own terror, Brielle stared dumbly at Andrew as he slowly reached out and picked up the candle.

"I hope I have effectively put to rest any further arguments on this subject. Please try to be cordial form now on. I hate fighting with you," the man stated matter-of-factly, his eyes shining like polished buttons in the wavering light. Smiling softly down at the flame in his hands, Andrew slowly climbed to his feet. "John and I used to fight like this…and look where it got him." Without another word the young lord swayed toward the door, one hand out and groping in the darkness. When he reached the doorway the drunken man paused to blow out the candle, dropping the room into complete and suffocating blackness. The click of a key turning in the lock seemed to echo forever.

Rolling off the side of the bed Brielle stumbled across the room, her legs wobbling treacherously beneath her. Her breath sawing in and out of her throat from exertion she stumbled against the doorway. Blind, she felt for the doorknob. Grasping the cool brass knob in her hand she turned it with all the force she could manage. Finding it to be locked she pounded a fist against the door. Feeling trapped, animal instinct took over.

"Let me out! You cannot lock me in here! I am not an animal! Let me out!" She screamed wildly over and over again until her voice wore down to a croak and her fist felt bruised. No one answered her desperate call.

Sinking to the floor, Brielle dully noted the burning tracks of tears rolling down her cheeks. Listening to the quiet pressing in around her, the Irishwoman raised shaking hands to cover her face. As time ticked away, her heart slowly settled back into its normal rhythm. The panic subsided and her mind cleared. _I cannot stay here. That is certain. It is just too dangerous…I cannot risk Andrew taking my baby away from me…I can't risk it. I have to get us out of here. I have to…no matter what…I have to._ And as Brielle stared unblinkingly into the blackness, a plan began to form within her mind. She had made a decision and knew what to do.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was now exactly five days before Christmas; there was a blanket of snow outside, the halls were decked with holly, but based solely upon the expressions of the Donovan women no outsider would have been able to divine this simple fact. Brielle sat rigidly in her chair at the dining table, her face as smooth and cold as a winter prairie, Aria matching her mother down to the tense slope of her shoulders. This was the first time in several days that Brielle had been permitted access to her child, but because of Andrew's hovering presence the reunion had been subdued at best. Mother and child sat opposite each other, their hands folded demurely in their laps.

At the head of the table Andrew glanced back and forth between the two, pleased with the obedience he saw in their silence. "I am glad you felt well enough to join us for dinner tonight, Brielle," he began, slowly bringing a steaming spoonful of soup to his lips.

Brielle's eyes flickered momentarily to the spoon hovering before Andrew's mouth before quickly dropping to her lap. "I missed your company, Andrew," she murmured, playing the part expected of her without blinking.

Smiling, the black eyed man sipped at his hot soup. "One of my menservants told me this morning that he found you wandering the halls late last night. Whatever were you doing up at such an hour?" he asked lightly.

Sucking in a breath Brielle searched for an acceptable answer. _Damn these blasted servants…spying and whispering about everything I do… _Every time she had slipped up in the last several days she had found herself imprisoned within her bedroom. _But soon I won't have to worry about that anymore,_ she thought coldly as she watched Andrew take another spoonful of soup into his mouth. Feigning a bashful shrug Brielle fiddled with her napkin.

"I was hungry and I didn't want to trouble anyone. So I just went down and cut a few pieces of bread."

A tense quiet settled in the room then as Andrew searched Brielle's face for any sign of deception. Finding none, the man raised a hand to cover a small yawn. "Next time do wake someone."

"Of course," she replied, one corner of her mouth twitching upward slightly as she watched him rub at his eyes. Pushing her own soup away from her untouched, Brielle shook her head slightly when her daughter made a move to take a bite. Confused, Aria set her spoon down with a clatter.

A balding middle aged man stepped into the room then, his movements slow and deliberate as he walked across the room. "Shall I serve the next course my lord?" he asked, blinking his eyes rapidly as he waited for a reply. Nodding vaguely, Andrew dismissed the man.

Licking his lips, Andrew turned his attention once again to Brielle. "You must excuse me…I suddenly feel very tired."

"You have been overburdened these last few days, my lord," Brielle replied helpfully, setting her napkin onto the table next to her bowl. Turning her gaze to the doorway the white haired woman felt her heart skip a beat in her chest. When, after several minutes, no one returned from the kitchen the tiny smile gracing her lips spread until it pulled at her stitches.

"Do the servants always eat at the same time we do?" she asked quietly, though she already knew the answer.

"Yes, I never believed in making them wait until…until I was done," the young lord replied, his words slurring into each other.

"How kind of you," she said curtly, the tiniest hint of malice creeping into her tone as Andrew slumped limply down into his chair. "Your kindness has made tonight that much easier to plan."

"Plan…what are you talking about?"

Standing slowly, one hand pressed against her bruised ribs, Brielle walked across the room and quickly checked behind all the doors leading into the room; satisfied that no one would be sneaking into the room anytime soon she turned her attention back to the man now struggling to remain upright. "If you had demanded your servants to eat after you, I would not have been able to accurately time the sedative I placed in the food." Glancing at the clock on the wall, Brielle crossed her arms over her chest. "It has been exactly fifteen minutes since you first tasted the soup."

"You put something in my food?" Andrew replied slowly, his voice rising to bellow the last word.

"Yes…well not exactly. Since I did not know what exactly the cook would prepare tonight I couldn't very well have contaminated a single dish. Instead I laced all the salt in the kitchen with a powerful sedative your kindly doctor provided to me when I complained of a lack of sleep. You see, being a woman, I knew that no matter the dish salt would be a vital ingredient."

"Damned woman…how will this help you! Now you leave me no choice but to remove my niece from your care…You will be lucky if I ever let you out of your room….You will beg me to…" Falling from his chair in an attempt to stand, Andrew landed on the floor with a crash. "Charles!" he bellowed for his manservant, only receiving silence for his trouble.

"I will never ask you for anything again as long as I live!" Brielle hissed furiously as she crossed the room and led Aria away from the man on the floor. "And now you will know what it feels like to call for help and have no one answer you! Rot on that floor for all I care. By the time you wake up _my lord_ we will be gone."

"You won't get away with this you potato-pounding Irish slut!" Andrew shouted after her as Brielle pulled Aria out of the room.

Racing down the hallway with her daughter in tow, Brielle dodged into a side room and grabbed a bag she had hidden there earlier, stuffed full of plain clothing for both herself and Aria along with a wad of cash she had managed to steal from one of Andrew's discarded greatcoats. Speaking quickly, Brielle headed toward the nearest staircase. "Alright love, we are going to leave this place now because if we don't some bad people are going to try and take you back to England."

Apparently terrified by the thought of being taken from her mother, Aria clung to Brielle's skirts. "Don't worry though," Brielle continued lightly, "I won't let that happen."

Climbing the stairs quickly, Brielle made her way to Aria's bed room. Stripping the child in moments, the white haired woman snatched as many warm layers of clothing out of the closet as she could, redressing her daughter snuggly in suitable winter gear. Grabbing Aria's favorite doll, the one she used to call Erik, Brielle stuffed the toy into her already bursting bag before making her way down the hall to her own room. Likewise ridding herself of the thin silk garment she wore, Brielle donned a plain brown dress hidden deep within her closet. Wrapping a discarded dust cloth about her head to hide the trademark color of her hair, the white haired woman moved to walk out her door.

A young serving girl stepped into the doorway just then, blocking Brielle's path. Recognizing the girl instantly as the quiet spoken cook sent to her house all those months ago before Erik left, Brielle continued forward.

"What did you do to everyone Madame! I walked into the kitchen and everyone was laying on the floor. Not one of them moving at all!" the girl squeaked, her voice quivering in fright. "You poisoned them all didn't you!"

"No, they are just sleeping…no one is hurt."

"You killed everyone Madame!" Adeline continued, ignoring Brielle's words. "They are dead and if you leave the police will blame me! You would have killed me too if I had not felt too ill to eat tonight!" Hysteria edged into the girl's voice, making her speech almost unrecognizable.

"Adeline…" Brielle started slowly, trying to soothe the frantic girl. "No one has died. Everyone is just…."

"Well I won't let you leave me alone to talk to the police!"

Sensing something dangerous in the girl's words, Brielle rushed forward to take hold of the door. Before her hand could close about the doorknob, Adeline swung the white plank of wood shut in her face. The all too familiar click of a key turning in the lock reached Brielle's ears. Pounding a fist against the door, the white haired woman listened as Adeline's terrified footsteps retreated down the hall.

"Damn, damn, damn!" Brielle howled, dropping the cloak she had in her hand onto the floor. "What now! Damn that girl!"

Feeling the first tremors of panic seize her heart like a fist, Brielle began to pace the room wildly. An insistent tug upon her skirts stopped her cursing as the Irishwoman glanced down at her daughter's quiet face. "What is it, love?" Brielle asked a little impatiently. "Momma has to think of a new way to leave."

Without a word Aria raised her arm and pointed solemnly at the window. Following her daughter's finger, Brielle slowly nodded her head in understanding. "You are smarter than your momma, Aria," she said, donning the discarded cloak and snatching up the bag. Running to the window Brielle threw open the casements and gazed out onto the undisturbed white of the yard ten feet below them. A blast of bitter cold air rushed into the room, lifting the curtains from the walls.

"That is a long way down," she murmured, looking uncertainly toward Aria's small form as the child came to stand beside her. With a shrug the small girl dismissed the height, showing she wasn't afraid.

"Alright," Brielle said resolutely. Turning, she lifted the bag from the floor and tossed it out the window. Brushing snow off the window ledge, Brielle caught her knee on the edge and eased herself outside. Hindered by her skirts, she nearly tipped into the darkness below her. Looking to both sides Brielle let out a surprised burst of laughter when she caught sight of a white trellis gleaming against the side of the house just a foot from her window. Grabbing hold of one of the white rungs to anchor herself Brielle knelt to help Aria clamber up onto the ledge next to her.

"Ok, this is what we are going to do," she said slowly. "We are going to climb down this little ladder here and run to the stables. We will borrow one of the horses there so we won't have to walk in the snow. Sound good?" Nodding her head Aria glanced briefly at the trellis, then the ground, the tiniest flicker of fear clouding her small face.

"It will be ok. I will help you down. All you have to do is hold onto me," Brielle assured the little girl as Aria wrapped her arms around her mother's neck. Pulling herself upright by the hand clutching the trellis, Brielle hugged her daughter to her hip tightly despite the arrows of pain lacing up her side. Slowly she eased a foot out onto the makeshift ladder, testing its strength. When the thin rung of wood held her weight Brielle moved her other foot next to her first, clinging to the side of the house like a monkey. One-handed, she carefully lowered first one foot, then the other, to a lower level on the trellis. Minutes ticked by as she concentrated on both keeping her balance and not dropping Aria.

When her feet sank into several inches of snow, Brielle released a thankful sigh. "That wasn't so hard," she offered to the night, suddenly feeling as if she were invincible. _Everything will be ok. Once we get to Paris things won't be so bad. If I look hard enough I will find work and a place to stay…Everything will be ok._

Stooping to let her daughter down, Brielle picked up their hastily packed bag. Ignoring the pain these motions caused she set off toward the stables, Aria following on her heels. _Everything will be ok…everything will be ok, _she repeated in her mind as the pair quietly broke into the stables and saddled a sleepy-looking mare. Tying their bag behind the saddle, the white haired woman turned and pulled Aria's hat down further over her ears. Leading the shaggy animal to the stable door, Brielle smiled grimly at the looming shadow of the manor. _Everything will be ok…_

Lifting Aria up onto the animal's back, Brielle clumsily climbed up after her. Settling into the saddle, astride like a man, she readjusted her skirts and cloak. Tucking the corners of her outer garment about Aria's slight form, Brielle chirruped to the gentle horse and nudged the animal with her heels. Plodding stealthily down the darkened drive, the pair soon came to the country road at its end. Urging the mare to a trot Brielle steered the animal down the road toward their ultimate destination, Paris.

_Everything will be alright…_she thought one last time, more as a prayer now than a certainty. _Everything will be alright. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Three days later, everything was not alright. It was the day before Christmas Eve and Brielle found herself shivering in one of Paris' many back alleys rather than warm by a roaring fire. At first the city's rambling causeways and maze-like side streets had seemed a blessing. A person could lose themselves easily within the crowds scurrying through the soiled snow. But what Brielle had not counted on was the outrageous inflation and widespread shortages the winter season had created within the city of lights.

The money she had stolen, which she had been counting on to last them until she got a job, had barely lasted more than a day. Fearful of someone recognizing her odd coloring, Brielle had stopped by a wig maker's shop and bought the cheapest realistic wig she could find. Now a black haired woman with long bangs in front to conceal some of her features, Brielle looked more like Aria's mother than ever before. But that had been before she realized just how expensive city life was for a single woman with a child, before she had discovered just how cold hearted Paris really was.

The rest of her money had been spent on two nights' boarding in a rat infested slum whose hallways smelled suspiciously of human urine. With nothing left to afford the soaring prices for bread Brielle had gone two days with nothing to eat, giving her daughter what little food she could afford, cursing all the while her stupidity for buying a wig to disguise her hair when she could have used the money for another loaf of bread.

And now they were left with nothing, forced to walk the blistering cold city streets because they could not afford another days' rent. The prospect of having to spend the night without a roof over their heads hung heavily in Brielle's mind. She had seen still mounds of rags covering the shivering homeless down the less traveled alleys. The ones that still shivered were lucky, for she had also noticed the stiff, frozen bodies of the unlucky poor who had not made it through the night. _Think Brielle, think! We have to find somewhere to stay. Somewhere for free…that allows single women…Oh God…What am I going to do? _

Shifting her bag into her other hand Brielle stretched her stiff back. _This blasted bag seems to get heavier with each passing minute. _Lowering her head, the now black haired woman leaned a tired shoulder against a cold brick wall. Feeling Aria's gaze upon her Brielle smiled crookedly, making a brave attempt to hold back the frustrated and desperate tears forming in her eyes. _I must take care of Aria…even if I have to go hungry for a week I must take care of her. I have to find a place for her to stay…I have to find her food. If I don't, what kind of mother would I be…Already I am a failure for putting her through this…. _Pounding a fist against the wall behind her Brielle could feel her bottom lip begin to tremble.

Just as the gravity of the situation threatened to crush her under its weight, Brielle felt a tiny hand reach up and give a tug upon her skirts. Looking down, the Irish woman watched Aria looking off down the road. "What is it love?" Brielle asked tiredly, her eyes following her daughter's gaze but not seeing anything of any use to them.

Pointing, Aria tugged once again on her mother's skirts before setting off down the street on her own. Alarmed at her daughter's quick departure Brielle jumped and pushed away from the wall, snagging their bag as she took off after Aria's retreating figure. Turning first one corner then another in hot pursuit of the child Brielle burst out onto a wide open area, nearly running right over Aria's now stationary body.

"What is wrong with you!" Brielle nearly screamed, grabbing hold of the child's arm in a vise-like grip. "Someone could have kidnapped you! Or you could have gotten lost! Don't ever run away from me again! Do you hear me, don't you ever…." Slowly the tirade came to a grinding halt when Brielle noticed Aria's wide slate gray eyes turn across the open area to the grand building sitting not fifty yards away.

Tilting her head back to gaze up at the ten story masterpiece, Brielle released Aria. Recognition flickered across the tired woman's face as her eyes traveled over the rich architecture and elaborate statues of the Paris Opera House. A stunned frown tightened her mouth. _It has been almost a year now since I have been here…funny, this is where I met Erik for the first time. _

Forgetting her many troubles for a moment, Brielle gave into her daughter's urgings and followed the child to stand at the bottom stair of one of the building's many grand entrances. Old heart ache she was sure she had rid herself of welled up within her, tugging at her already battered heart relentlessly. _This is where I first met Erik…_Shaking her head slightly Brielle turned her face from the building, turned from the feelings it rekindled within her. Intending to leave Garnier's masterpiece behind, the Irishwoman looked around for Aria only to discover the child waving from the top of the stairs.

Huffing slightly, the unending responsibilities returning to weigh upon her shoulders, Brielle placed a fist on her hip. "Enough playing, it is time to go." When Aria only continued to wave down at her Brielle hiked up her skirts and charged up the stairs, anger at her daughter's disobedience burning through her body. "Come on Aria! There are more important things for us to be doing right…" Stopping in mid-sentence Brielle watched infuriated as Aria turned and disappeared into the opera house through the closest door.

Grumbling several curses under her breath, Brielle ran up the last remaining steps and threw open the same door she had seen Aria disappear through. Disorientated for a moment by the dimness inside Brielle slowed her pace, looking around through snow blinded eyes, waiting for her vision to adjust to the shadows. Closing her eyes for a moment the Irish woman realized just how warm the building was. Flexing frozen fingers she tilted her face upwards, loving the tingling racing over her cold body. _God…I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be warm…_Sighing, Brielle opened her eyes.

"Aria?" she called in a hushed voice, certain that at any moment someone would come along and throw them out. Shifting her bag uncertainly from one hand to the other, Brielle stepped further into an unfamiliar section of the opera. Having only ever entered the building through the entrance reserved for those arriving in carriages the Irish woman couldn't quite find her bearings. Following the sound of voices, Brielle quietly crept along several deserted passageways. "Aria!"

Pushing open a door stealthily, Brielle found herself in the building's grand theater. The ballet troupe apparently was practicing on stage. Intending to back out the way she had come, Brielle suddenly noticed Aria's black head bobbing above several of the red velvet seats a few rows away from her. Cursing under her breath, Brielle shut the door behind her and hurried in a stooped over fashion to retrieve her daughter from where the impossible child sat in the sixth row. Quickly coming up alongside Aria's still form, Brielle bent to latch onto the child's arm and drag her back out of the theater.

"What are you doing in here!" she hissed, a little louder than she had intended.

"That is exactly the same question I was about to ask you," an authoritative female voice called in irritated French from stage left. All the twittering ballerinas stilled at that voice, sending the entire theater into a disquieting silence.

Brielle's heart skipped a beat as she slowly brought her eyes up to survey the multitude of faces staring straight at her. She froze like a deer in a hunter's sights, her eyes widening and dirty face draining of all color. Her skin itched where she imagined something was crawling on her. Trying to snap out of the instinctual shyness threatening to overpower her sense, Brielle deliberately focused her gaze upon the slender, middle-aged woman onstage.

"I…uh…well I…"


	37. Welcome to the Opera

**Hey everyone. I am very sorry this chapter took so long. I have had a cold from hell for about a week and a half and I found it very difficult to write when my head felt like it weighed 20 pounds. But I am feeling better now and plan to get back on schedule so don't worry about me having writer's block or anything. **

**A big thanks to all of the reviewers. It helped motivate me a lot to know you all were so worried. And once again three cheers for Juliana, who is the best beta in the world. Hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

Chapter 37: Welcome to the Opera

Brielle slowly wrapped her hand around her impossible daughter's upper arm, pulling the child close to her side. She stared up at the stage from under her dark bangs, hiding the telling lightness of her eyebrows in their shade. The sharp eyed woman on the stage took several commanding steps forward, her oddly short black skirts swirling just below her knees with every graceful sway of her hips. Though the woman's face was as cool as stone, Brielle couldn't stop her eyes from dropping to the tiny dancer's feet tapping impatiently upon the stage floor. _I remember wearing shoes like that…a long time ago. _

"I said, what are you doing here?" demanded that calm voice once again with just a bit more impatience.

Gripping her bag and Aria tighter, Brielle lowered her gaze from the confident figure on the stage to the scuffed and muddy toes of her own boots. Her heart began to hammer within her chest, beating almost painfully within her ribs as she let out a controlled breath. She could almost feel the eyes of the dancers moving over her body, her skin burned from their glances. But somehow, more than anyone else, that one auburn haired woman made her acutely aware of the sticky film of filth covering her from head to toe and the ragged appearance of her gown.

How could just the sight of normal, clean people make her suddenly realize how low she had come? Less than a week ago she had been well fed, warm, and clothed with the finest velvets Europe had to offer. People had fawned over her, over every aspect of her happiness, bending over backwards to fulfill every one of her wishes. Her daughter had had everything a child could ever want, tutors, toys, lovely clothes. In a matter of a few days everything had changed. Now she was wandering the back streets of Paris, shivering with cold and hunger, hoping to God that she would be able to find something for her child to eat before night fell. It wasn't until that precise moment, as she stared fixedly at the floor, that the harsh reality of her circumstances began to settle fully over her tired brain. _What have I done? What have I done? I have put both our lives in danger. I am a fool. I am the biggest fool in the world! How did this happen? How could it have gone so wrong? This isn't how my life was supposed to turn out!_

A black fury at her own actions began to rise up the back of her throat, choking her and nearly bringing tears to her eyes. She felt lower than dirt and those who were staring at her now only further reminded her of what she had lost. Raising a self-conscious hand to cover the ragged black knots of the two stitches in her lip, Brielle cleared her throat. "Forgive us, Madame. We did not mean to interrupt," she replied through her fingers.

Though her words were softly spoken they rang clearly through the quiet theater, causing most of the dancers on the stage to stop the pretense of stretching and stare openly at her. A few nudged their friends intrigued by the foreign lilt to Brielle's French, but many more smirked to themselves, obviously amused by the Irish woman's appearance.

Unexpectedly, a loud whirring sound exploded over the hushed murmuring on the stage. Half a dozen of the ballerinas visibly jumped when one side of an old backdrop swung down from the rafters near the back of the stage, the ropes which were supposed to be holding it running over the pulleys so fast that finally one snagged and pulled the entire support system down with it. The dancers shrieked like banshees and scattered across the stage as the pile of cloth and rope collapsed to the floor with a bang.

"Madame! Madame! It is the Ghost! We knew he was here! He has always been here! This is proof!" screamed several high-strung girls almost in unison as they pointed to the darkness above their heads. "Those fools who thought he was only a man were wrong!"

Flinching at the deafening noise of the howling dancers, Brielle dropped her bag to the floor. She had hardly even blinked when the backdrop crashed to the floor, nothing seemed to surprise her anymore, she was numb inside, but the high pitched bellowing was straining to her ears. As chaos ensued onstage the Irishwoman regained her composure, steeling herself against the racket and frowning up at the hysterical dancers as they raced to and fro. Turning her head to glance down at her daughter, Brielle found the child silently staring up toward the rafters with her thumb tucked firmly in her mouth, calm as can be. Gently prying the child's hand free of her lips, the Irishwoman ruffled the little girl's hair. When she returned her attention to the stage she caught the dance instructor eyeing her thoughtfully, the annoyance in her gaze completely gone. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments before the older woman turned to her dancers demanding silence.

There came a rush of air from the stage as the dance instructor released a great sigh, watching as the girls settled down to a more respectable volume. The auburn haired woman raised a hand to press against her temple as she slowly took in Brielle's and Aria's shabby and shivering forms. As the woman's eyes finally swept up from Brielle's toes to focus fixedly upon the Irishwoman's bruised face, a little more of the severity in her expression slipped away, she seemed to be considering something. The girls standing around her, all in their late teens, began to twitter once again over the odd intruder, all the while eyeing the pile of old cloth crumpled near the back of the stage. Having had enough of their silliness, the dance mistress turned and shot a baleful glance over her shoulder.

Silence quickly resumed as the woman waved a dismissive hand in their direction. "We might as well take a short break. Everyone go to the rehearsal room and sit down. And for goodness' sake, no one mention anything about ghosts or I will flay your hides."

As the girls filed off one side of the stage, every one of them turning curious eyes toward the dark haired woman and child standing in the sixth row, a few of the cattier dancers pulled rude faces behind their instructor's back. The girls didn't seem to want to go, as if they knew they were going to miss something. Evidently they knew something of their mistress's demeanor which brought a mean glow into their young eyes. Brielle caught the knowing glances that passed between them and quickly tensed every muscle in her body preparing herself for whatever the dance mistress had in mind. _The worst she can do is throw us out. Though it is warm in here there isn't any reason for us to stay…so really no matter how terrible she is…nothing she says matters. _

Raising her chin in defiance of what she knew was about to come, Brielle brought her eyes up from the floor to glare up at the stage and the single figure now standing alone in its center. "They seem mighty obedient for a bunch of teenagers. Why did you send them away? To make sure there weren't any witnesses when you dealt with the ragamuffins?" Brielle clipped, a touch of the bitterness and fury she felt inside leaking out into her tone.

"Don't you raise your voice to me," the woman calmly replied, completely unruffled by the sharpness in Brielle's voice. "My name is Madame Giry, I am the dance mistress here."

"I don't care who you are. We didn't do anything wrong. The doors were unlocked, and there was no one there to stop us. Can you blame a child for wandering in? There is no need to…"

"Be silent," Madame Giry stated, smoothly interrupting Brielle's sentence. Stepping up to the very edge of the stage, the dance mistress pursed her lips thoughtfully. "When that set fell a few minutes ago you didn't even flinch," she murmured, almost to herself, as she turned slightly and glanced up into the darkness over her head.

On the defensive, Brielle analyzed the odd woman's words for some sort of accusation. In the past few days she had learned to mistrust everything everyone said. The people of the world were liars and cheats; she knew that now. "So what? Theaters are strange places. Strange things are bound to happen. Nothing surprises me anymore." Bending to retrieve her bag from where she had dropped it on the floor, Brielle took hold of Aria's hand. "I apologize again for interrupting your practice, but we must be going now."

"They say this place is haunted." Madame Giry replied, her cool eyes watching Brielle carefully. "About a year ago a terrible accident happened here. Many people almost died. It was said that the Ghost did it because the managers ignored his demands."

Straightening slowly, Brielle shrugged off the woman's odd comment. _I remember that. When I came here I remember people talking about the Ghost._ "Why in the world would I care about some ignorant story about a ghost? Only fools make up such tales to assuage their fears. There are no such things as ghosts."

A small smile slowly flickered at the corners of Madame Giry's mouth. "Really…how interesting." Pulling out a small pocket watch, the French woman checked the time. "Behind the curtains it is hard to remain so logical. The belief in the Ghost was so strong last year that many of our staff ran off without notice after the accident. Even now we are barely staffed properly to hold practices."

"Then they are fools and deserve to starve on the streets for giving up a perfectly acceptable job over a superstition. I would kill for just about any job at this point and those idiots left theirs over some stupid ghost story!" Brielle snapped, infuriated by the thought of such lackadaisical attitudes. Turning from the stage she stomped off down the aisle, pulling Aria along behind her.

Before Brielle made it to the end of the aisle, the older French woman sprang off the edge of the stage and jumped to the floor beside the orchestra. Chasing after the retreating pair Madame Giry rushed across the distance to the sixth row. Blocking Brielle's path the auburn haired woman fisted her hands upon her hips. "I cannot let you leave. You…"

Alarmed by this turn of events Brielle interrupted the woman before she had finished. "You cannot hold us here. We did nothing wrong. I apologized for interrupting your lesson, but I will not subject myself to any further humiliation. Get out of my way!"

Frowning, Madame Giry rolled her eyes. "You have a terrible attitude, young lady. I do not appreciate your lip. Now shut your mouth because you are coming with me right now." Grabbing Brielle by the arm Madame Giry turned and set off toward a side door.

Surprised by this woman's audacity, Brielle was momentarily compliant as she was dragged along out of the theater and into a side corridor. Outrage quickly replaced surprise as Brielle began to pull against the grip on her arm. "What is wrong with you! Let go of me!" Feeling Aria pull on her arm, Brielle paused and looked down at her as the child trailed behind. Though the little girl didn't make a sound it was obvious from her expression she was becoming highly distressed. "You are upsetting my little girl! Let me go! We didn't do anything."

Glancing back at Aria, Madame Giry slowed her step. "I merely feel it is necessary for you to meet someone."

A spike of fear drove itself through Brielle's outrage. _Who in the world would she want me to meet…unless someone has alerted the authorities! _"There is no reason for that Madame, I am happy to be on my way! Forgive me for being so impertinent." Changing her tone suddenly to that of supplication, Brielle pulled harder against the hand upon her arm. She could not afford to be arrested for trespassing.

Coming to a sudden stop in front of a rather plain and unattractive little door Madame Giry impatiently snapped over her shoulder, "Oh do be quiet - no one is going to hurt you, you silly girl. Now keep still for one blessed moment or I will let you walk out the front door and back into the ruin of your current life." Turning her attention back to the door, the auburn haired woman lifted one hand and gave the unpolished wood a good rap. A shuffling sound issued from behind the door before it was slowly swung open, revealing a tiny stooped woman with iron gray hair and large spectacles on the end of her nose.

"What can I do for you? I thought you were in the middle of practice." the older woman asked, the wrinkles about her eyes deepening as she squinted first at Madame Giry, then at Brielle. "Who is that? Why do you have that young thing captured?"

Finally releasing Brielle's arm, Madame Giry smiled at the older woman. "Kate, I have good news. I have found you a new staff member." Stepping to the side, Madame Giry nudged Brielle forward into the stooped woman's direct line of vision.

Staggered by what she had just heard Brielle's mouth dropped open. "Wh-what did you just say!"

Ignoring the sputtering Irishwoman, Madame Giry once again addressed Kate. "I swear it must have been a godsend. She just walked in off the streets."

Shaking her head Kate began to frown up at Brielle. "Then how do you know she has any qualifications? She looks very young. I will not put up with a useless young girl. That and just look at the state of her. She looks no better than a common guttersnipe and smells even worse." When Brielle started under the criticism Kate grimly shook her gray head, pushing her glasses up her nose. Taking a step forward, the ancient lady reached out and pinched the Irish woman's arm. "And look at that. Skinny as a rail - looks like a strong wind could carry her away. No, Antoinette, I don't think she will do. I need someone strong - the work is not easy." Moving back to shut the door in their faces, the old woman dismissed them.

Watching this exchange in stunned silence Brielle opened her mouth to interject, but Madame Giry waved an impatient hand in her face, silencing her. Crossing her arms smugly the auburn haired woman waited until the door had nearly closed before she spoke again. "She says she doesn't believe in ghosts, Kate."

There was a quiet moment when the door halted its progress an inch from shutting before it swung open and slammed against the inner wall. "Did she now?" the gray haired woman demanded marching out into the hallway, new interest lighting her features as she looked Brielle over once again. "Well that is all well and good, but I had two girls leave this week because the lights kept going on and off in their rooms."

Brielle, feeling as if something good might for once be within her reach, finally opened her mouth. "What a silly reason for leaving a perfectly good job. Gas lights go out all the time." Pausing there she shifted her grip upon the bag in her hands and glanced down at Aria. The child seemed extremely interested in the conversation happening over her dark hand. "But may I ask exactly what you two are talking about?"

Pursing her lips Kate turned her eagle bright green eyes toward Brielle, squaring off against the young woman, her hands upon her hips. "I am Kate Dubois. I run the cleaning crews of the opera. Unfortunately I have been having trouble keeping the staff on the job. Do you know anything about housekeeping, cleaning, and polishing - that sort of thing?"

Mentally Brielle grimaced at the very thought of domestic work, she had always been terrible at it, but outwardly her pale face remained impassive. A lie formed within her head, dripping from her lips before she had even consciously planned it. "Of course, what woman doesn't know the ins and outs of keeping things clean? I know I don't look it, but I am a hard worker. I would gladly take any position you would find fitting."

"I don't know. I don't like the idea of hiring foreigners," Madame Dubois grumbled as she glared tight-lipped at the Irish woman, an unconvinced glint flickering in her eyes. At that precise moment Aria stepped out from behind her mother's skirts. Hopping forward a step, the child scooted up close to the crotchety woman's side. When Kate glanced down at Aria's dark head the child's sober face cracked into a wide grin, her dimples flashing adorably in the dim light. Taken aback slightly by the child's forward behavior, Madame Dubois merely frowned down at the smiling girl.

"What does she want?" she asked Brielle sharply, looking distinctly uncomfortable under Aria's attention.

Equally mystified by her daughter's behavior, Brielle shrugged her shoulders slightly. Somehow she felt that the things she said in the next few moments would either secure them a place to stay or condemn them back out onto the streets. She couldn't allow the latter to happen. "I don't know. Normally she is very shy around strangers. Perhaps she just likes you."

Madame Dubois gave a great snort at that, puffing up slightly as if she was certain that couldn't possibly be true, she didn't seem the type of person many people would like. But as Aria twirled a finger in her dark hair and continued to smile up at the ancient lady, Kate's fierce frown began to soften. "Well, what a strange little girl. Smiling at strangers like that," she said vaguely, all the bite in her voice having disappeared.

Reaching out a knotted hand, roughened by years of hard work, Kate patted Aria on the head awkwardly. "But she does have the loveliest eyes, like a spring fog." Still gazing down at Aria's charming grin, Madame Dubois began to smile herself. "I suppose I could use some temporary help until I find more suitable workers." Turning her attention to Brielle suddenly, she once again frowned at the Irish woman. "But don't get too comfortable. I will most likely fire you by the end of the week."

Nodding in understanding, Brielle fought to keep her features blank as her insides churned with relief. "I understand."

Sniffing at her answer, Madame Dubois crossed her arms over her chest. "See that you do understand. Now be off with you, you start work tomorrow night. And for God's sake take a bath before then. You smell like you have been rolling about in garbage." Turning her sharp eyes back to Madame Giry who had been standing in the background until now, Kate pointed one age spotted finger her way. "I would thank you for bringing me an extra pair of hands, but most likely this one will turn out to be useless."

Her eyes smiling secretly behind a bland expression, Madame Giry merely nodded her head. "I will show them where the cleaning staff lives, as well as the kitchens. It is on the way and I have plenty of time. The girls are on break."

Waving her hand imperiously, Madame Dubois dismissed Madame Giry as if she were a common worker rather than the dance mistress. "Yes, yes. Whatever you like, as long as you show them where to wash up while you are at it." Turning then, Kate swept back into her room and shut the door in their faces.

Leaning down to take Aria's hand in her own, Brielle turned to Madame Giry, surprised to find the woman completely unflustered by Kate's rude behavior. Without missing a beat the auburn haired woman turned and set off down the hallway. "She takes some getting used to," she called over her shoulder. "Don't be bothered by her waspish behavior. She is like that to everyone. Just don't rile her and you will fit in just fine."

"That is good to hear," Brielle mumbled as she scanned the dark backstage area they were currently passing through. She had never been in this section of the Opera before. It was like a maze. The hanging ropes and old set pieces were disorienting. Suddenly Brielle could understand why the legend of a ghost could take hold back here, for some reason she had the distinct feeling that she was being watched.

"Keep up. We wouldn't want you to get lost on your first day here. The opera can be a bit confusing at times, but you will get used to it. Come with me and I will show you the dormitories and the kitchens."

Nodding vaguely, Brielle glanced up into the web of hanging ropes and pulleys behind her. A flash of movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye. Turning her head she frowned into the darkness, her gray eyes finding nothing out of the ordinary. _Don't let your imagination get away with you. Just because it is creepy here doesn't mean there is anything out of the ordinary. Keep your eyes ahead…don't look back…don't look to the side…don't think of anything but keeping your place here for as long as possible. It is our only chance._

And with that Brielle shrugged off the feeling of eyes upon her back, following Madame Giry with her gaze focused strictly ahead. _Feh…ghost my arse…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Half an Hour Earlier

Erik sat absently staring down at the stage directly below his feet, a rope held tightly in one hand. He rested his chin lightly upon one of the handrails of his favorite catwalk as his eyes brushed over the young dancers practicing onstage. It had become an annoying habit for him to visit this spot on a daily basis. Solitude no longer held the appeal it once had. Something inside of him, something new, rebelled against the loneliness of his former home deep in the Opera's cellars. It was like an addiction, this new reliance on human contact, an addiction he didn't have the will to break.

He smiled grimly in the darkness above the stage and readjusted his grip upon the rope in his hand. It was always a laugh to jingle a few backdrops during practice to rile the girls up. Playing games with the staff was one of the few pleasures left to him. Of course, he tried to refrain from scaring them too much, the poor things, especially since it gave Madame Giry such a hard time.

A disturbance below him brought him out of his musings with a start. Someone had interrupted the dance practice and though these girls were just the understudies for the prima ballerinas he was sure Antoinette would be furious. As he cocked his head to the side to better hear the conversation from below, Erik noted a sharpness creep into his old friend's tone. _Oh yes…definitely annoyed. You would think people would know by now not to interrupt her while she is…_

"Forgive us Madame. We did not mean to interrupt," came a muffled reply to one of Madame Giry's questions.

Jerking bolt upright, Erik could feel all of the color drain from his face. _That voice…that voice…it sounds almost like…_The rope in his hand quickly slipped through his suddenly numb fingers, sending the entire backdrop crashing to the floor. Starting at the sound, he cursed viciously under his breath. He hadn't meant for the whole blasted thing to go crashing down.

Listening intensely to the chaos ensuing under his feet, Erik strained his ears for one particular voice within the crowd. Only a few moments passed but it felt like a lifetime as he waited. Then that song-like lilting voice cut through the unending murmuring of the dancers. The woman only said a few sentences, but he was sure he knew who belonged to that haunting voice.

_I have to make sure…but I can't see into the auditorium from here…I have to make sure!_ Jumping to his feet Erik raced quietly over the catwalks, moving with the predatory grace of a panther. Flickering in between shadows he cautiously avoided the crew members taking a break two levels below him. Their presence continued to hinder his progress until he managed to skirt the small group and reach a direct line to the floor. Anxiety caused his hands to tremble as they latched onto the rope hanging before his face. _Calm down…just calm down. _Jumping out into the darkness, with only the rope to hold his weight, he made short work of getting to ground level. Sliding down the single line, his hands protected by black leather gloves, the masked man's feet thumped to the floor within seconds.

He had barely taken two steps before the sound of half a dozen feet clomping his way reached his ears just in time for him to duck behind a curtain as a section of the dance troupe walked by. Evidently Madame Giry had given the girls a break. _Good, fewer people around to see me…_Impatiently he waited for the girls to walk by him, every passing second a torture in and of itself.

Moving stealthily towards a hidden place behind a changing screen, Erik glanced out into the theater only to find the place completely empty. In his annoyance he nearly upended the screen as he gave it a good shake. _Damn it!_ Turning violently around he raced further into the backstage area. He had to find them before Antoinette threw the woman out. Not knowing for sure was quickly driving him mad. With every second that passed the panic took a greater hold over his senses.

As he dodged around repair equipment and old set pieces, Erik mentally tried to talk himself out of the misery slowly clogging his airways. _It couldn't possibly be her. It simply is not possible. She is supposed to be getting married. I read the announcement in the newspapers. _

Sliding to a halt near the cleaning mistress's room, Erik plastered himself to the wall. Eavesdropping the masked man listened intently to the conversation just around the corner from his current position. Evidently Madame Giry was not throwing the mystery woman out. _By God, she is offering her a job!_ Quickly glancing around the corner Erik caught sight of Antoinette discussing something with that crotchety woman Kate Dubois. Off to one side stood a slim, raggedy woman with long black hair and a young child clutching at her skirts. _Thank God…it isn't her…it doesn't look like her. This woman has dark hair…it can't be her. _But then the woman spoke again and all of his tenuous certainties flew out the window.

Slinking back behind the corner Erik waited until Madame Giry led the dark haired woman off to the dormitories. Following at a distance he fought to get in front of them. He had to see the woman's face, he had to! The young woman stopped suddenly and turned toward his hiding place. Ducking back into the shadows, Erik watched silently as she searched the darkness behind her.

Recognition was instantaneous and staggering, though her face was partially obscured in the dim light Erik knew her as surely as if they had been standing face to face. All the air left him as he stared disbelieving at Brielle's familiar features. Slowly he slid to the floor as his legs gave out from under him, his eyes never leaving that beautiful face. Brielle turned away from him then and went on her way, but her face, her voice remained in his head. In one sweeping moment all the pain and betrayal of those days after he left came rolling back.

_Why is she here? WHY, WHY? Why can't she leave me be? Why can't I just live the rest of my life in peace? _Just as quickly as the agony had pressed in around him the anger took its place, protecting his heart behind a burning shield of fury. _How dare she come here…here of all places!_

Slowly climbing to his feet, his entire body trembling in rage, Erik blindly pushed away what pain, what affection, remained in his heart. As far as he was concerned he had never known her. As far as he was concerned she was just another lying witch. But a question still remained in the back of his mind, pressing forward to be addressed. _Why has she come here? By the state of her dress it doesn't appear as if it has been awhile since her doting lord has taken care of her. _A nasty spike of glee flickered through his body at the thought of her meeting misfortune, a thousand horrible scenarios played out within his head as he stared off into the darkness. _Perhaps the young lord finally saw her for what she is. I could almost pity the man. No doubt she found someone else to throw her affections at whilst under his care. He must have thrown her out for it. _She was just like Christine, a liar. But this time it was different. This time he didn't have to put up with the agony. This time he could give just as much as he took.

A dark smile slowly flickered across his features, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs as if he had run a mile. _Brielle will pay for coming here. If she doesn't believe in ghosts now then by God she will! I will make sure of that! _


	38. Anger and Pity

**Hey everyone! Time for the next chapter of Unseen Genius. Hurray! Hope you enjoy it. The only big thing I have to add this week it that there is a nice note at the end of the chapter concerning what Brielle does and does not know about Erik's past. There were a few questions in the reviews last week over this topic so it should answer whatever you have been wondering about. **

**A big thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers. I always love to hear from you guys. And lets not forget my genius beta Juliana. Hurray for her too!**

Chapter 38: Anger and Pity

Hurrying to catch up to the retreating figure before her Brielle ignored the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. She couldn't seem to shake the feeling of being watched, but she did not allow herself to glance back again. Keeping her back ramrod straight, Brielle squeezed her daughter's hand and smiled down at the little girl. Feeling her mother's gaze Aria turned a sober eye upward. Her dimples flashed briefly before she looked away, turning her head to gaze off behind them.

"Don't be afraid. There isn't anything in the dark that isn't in the light," Brielle soothed, taking Aria's overly serious look as an expression of concern. When her daughter merely shrugged and continued to stare over her shoulder Brielle fought the urge to follow her gaze. The tiny shivers were still racing up and down her spine.

"These are some of the dressing rooms used by the artists performing in the productions," Madame Giry's voice stated, breaking roughly into Brielle's thoughts and making the Irishwoman start slightly. "There are identical rooms on the other side of the theater. Besides these there are several larger dormitories which house the maintenance and cleaning staffs. In all we have the capacity to house around seven hundred and fifty people at any given time."

Glancing down the hallway where the auburn haired woman indicated, Brielle frowned at the door at the very end. She recognized that hallway, recognized that door. As she stared down the empty corridor another scene played itself out within her head, momentarily blinding her eyes from the present. In her head she watched as a young girl with dark curly hair raced out of the room in tears, wailing pitifully as her male companion ran after her. _That is the room where that girl was staying. What was her name? Cah-something. I remember feeling that those two were somehow involved with everything that happened, but I never figured out how. Christine…I remember they called her Christine._

_Actually, now that I think about it, when I found Erik he mentioned someone named Christine. Strange… _Shaking the images out of her head, Brielle closed her eyes for a moment. "Is it so dark back here because there is no production currently running?"

Pausing in her quick tour Madame Giry pushed a wayward lock of hair back up into its pins, her green eyes coming up to watch Brielle's semi-odd behavior. "No. This hall is empty right now for a different reason. People think it is haunted. And since it hasn't been necessary, no one has chosen to take up residence."

"Haunted…" Brielle murmured, her tone containing less derision than before. Something of the creepy atmosphere was beginning to sink into her bones. It was no longer so farfetched to believe that something lay in the shadows, waiting for the right moment, waiting to strike. Deep in the pit of her stomach a sudden wave of trepidation ate away at what little confidence she had left. _Why do I feel like I shouldn't be here, like I am not wanted here?_

Shaking off such thoughts, she followed Madame Giry as the older woman started off down another hallway. As they made their way out of the area immediately around the stage and into better lit and more well-lived sections of the Opera House, Brielle's unease faded slightly, leaving her feeling rather foolish for buying into the superstition she had ridiculed less than an hour ago. The trio passed a set of double doors through which loud banging and boisterous conversations could be heard.

A burst of booming laughter issued from the doors as Madame Giry paused for a moment. "These are the kitchens. I don't think you will be spending any time in there, other than to get food for yourself. We hire cooks especially for their skills just in case a visiting artist requires something special."

One of the two doors swung open then and a pot-bellied man with jet black hair backed out into the hallway, the delicious odor of some unnamed dish wafting out with him. Turning carefully with a tray balanced in one hand, he pulled up short when he caught sight of the women. Wiping his free hand on his apron, the man grinned at the dance mistress and Brielle.

Smiling at the two women and little girl, the slightly chubby man shifted the tray in his hands. "Hello, what beauties are these that have wandered down to my kitchen?" he asked with raised eyebrows, a touch of Italian haunting his French.

Planting her hands on her hips Madame Giry puffed up in irritation. "Just mind your own business, Gerald. What are you doing wandering around anyway when you should be working?"

Ignoring the woman's tone the cook slowly squatted down and plucked a cookie from his tray; holding it out for Aria he waited until the child released her mother's skirts and hesitantly took it from him. "Aww now, Madame. No need to get all stirred up. I _am_ working; I am providing this pretty little girl with what every child needs, sweets."

Stabbing a finger in the man's direction, the auburn haired woman took a step forward. "Now stop that, you great baboon. That child hasn't even had dinner yet and here you are filling her up with sugar and nonsense. Be off with you before we catch your silliness."

Watching this scene with a subdued sense of amusement Brielle smoothed a hand over Aria's dark head, nodding when the child looked to her for permission to eat the sweet in her hand. "Oh, one cookie won't hurt I don't think," she said with a shrug, purposely playing down her own reaction to this stranger's kindness.

Automatic mistrust warred with the gratitude inside of her. Finally people were beginning to treat the both of them with the simple human decency she had begun to think was lost to her forever - she didn't quite know what to think of it all. The animalistic wariness burned into her brain both ashamed her and kept her sane. It was easier to believe all people were slime than to make peace with the fact that her own stupidity had placed both herself and her daughter in great danger. It was her fault all of this had happened to them. Perhaps, in a way, she even deserved this agony. God had a way of punishing the wicked, and she was beginning to seriously wonder about her own nature. _When we were out on those streets…I would have been willing to do anything to protect Aria…anything. _

As the man straightened, his knees cracking all the way up, he turned that affable smile back to Madame Giry. "See, no harm done. Now I really must be going. I am a very busy man and don't have the time to stand around chatting all day." With that said, Gerald turned and left the women to their own devices, waving to them over his shoulder. "Goodbye, my love! I count the moments 'til we meet again," he added with a shout before disappearing around a corner.

Rolling her eyes Madame Giry stalked off in the opposite direction, mumbling something scathing under her breath. "That man…I swear…the foolishness…."

Nudging Aria forward with a gentle hand on the child's back Brielle followed on the woman's heels. Easily sensing the irritation emanating from the dance mistress Brielle kept silent, merely nodding when the Madame pointed out several other areas to her. When the auburn haired woman stopped in front of another plain door she quickly checked the watch dangling from a chain at her waist. "These are the cleaning staff's dormitories. Each room can house around ten people. This entire hallway is reserved for our female workers. Most of these rooms are empty at the moment, but I don't think it would be advisable for you to stay by yourself. Since you are new and all. The other ladies will be able to help you get used to life here. It can be rather difficult at first. The Opera is a world in and of itself - we have our own laws and customs that might seem strange to outsiders."

Opening her mouth to say she shouldn't have any problems with the theater's oddities, Brielle quickly shut it again. She couldn't tell this woman that her travels in exotic locales had long since desensitized her to strange customs. Low class cleaning ladies did not travel the world with their fathers. She had to remember that. Brielle Donovan was dead now.

Noticing Madame Giry's sharp gaze fixed upon her face, Brielle shifted uncomfortably. "May I ask why you helped me, Madame? You never even asked me my name. Its Brielle Don…Brielle Donner and this is Aria by the way," she finally said, feeling the need to say something under those steely eyes. The lie sounded painfully obvious.

"We need people here who won't up and leave anytime soon. And pardon me, but you looked like you were not in a position to be very choosy about where you stay at the moment." Turning her eyes to stare pointedly at the large bruise staining Brielle's cheek a sickly bluish green, the dance mistress fell silent for a moment. Her expression softening slightly, Madame Giry reached out and laid a hand on Brielle's shoulder. "How did you get those bruises, dear? Are you running from someone? We can make sure you and your little girl are safe here if…"

Easing out of the dance mistress' touch, Brielle turned her eyes to the floor. Though she longed to lean into this woman's support she could not find it in her heart to trust again. "I am a widow, Madame. John, my husband, died many years ago. I need protection from no one."

"I never said anything about a husband, dear. But if that is what you say, then I will take your word." Clearing her throat as the hardness returned to her features Madame Giry reached out and turned the doorknob, pushing the door open. "You both can get cleaned up in the room at the end of the hall. No one else should be around, so you will have some privacy. The kitchens are open all day long so you will be able to get something to eat as well. Get some rest. From what I understand tomorrow night is your first day of work."

"Night? Why at night?"

Madame Giry was quiet for a moment before answering. "Most of the cleaning is done at night or the early morning. The work goes faster when there are fewer people around. That and the patrons and managers don't like to have to step around the common workers during the day."

When a flash of outrage flickered over Brielle's face the dance mistress smiled. "You will have to hide that temper of your better. Get used to being looked down on. The sooner you do, the sooner it will stop stinging. Even the other cleaning ladies will do it until you work your way to their level, and even then they will whisper about you behind your back."

Waiting a beat until Brielle nodded in understanding, Madame Giry stepped away from the door. "I will leave the two of you alone for now. I am sure Kate will be in touch with you."

"Thank you, Madame. You have done me a great service and I will not forget it," Brielle said quietly, leading Aria into their new home.

"I didn't do it for you, Madame Donner," came the curt reply. "Like I said, we need workers. Simple as that." Turning without another word Madame Giry swept off down the hall, checking her watch once again before disappearing around a corner.

Left alone, Brielle tossed her bag onto an empty bed and sat down heavily. Reaching up to rub at her aching eyes she sighed - the Opera's uneven lighting was killing her, she wished she had brought her shaded glassed with her. As she sat quietly on the lumpy mattress waves of relief welled up within her until she was sure she would burst from the enormity of the emotion. _We are safe now. We have somewhere to stay. Finally I can relax just a little bit. _ It was almost too good to be true and Brielle couldn't help but doubt her good fortune. Running the events over in her head she looked for something wrong with the situation, waiting for the bottom to fall out from under her. Lately she had felt like she was constantly struggling without solid footing. But for now it seemed the luck of her nationality was coming back.

Smiling, Brielle held her hand out to Aria and waited for the child to come and sit next to her. "Well it seems this is our new home. It is exciting, isn't it? Living in an Opera. Maybe there will be other little girls here for you to play with." When Aria merely shrugged at that Brielle sighed. Her daughter's behavior was not getting better. In fact, it was becoming increasingly alarming. When the child had smiled at Madame Dubois, Brielle had thought she would faint from the shock. It had been the first time she had seen her daughter smile in months. Aria hadn't been the same since Erik left. She was always sulky, her large gray eyes flat and sober. These were not the normal actions of a small child. Brielle was seriously beginning to question whether Aria would ever be the same mischievous little girl she had once been. That alone was enough to make her hate Erik. Even now, after all this time, she could find herself hating him.

"Come on, let's go get cleaned up and get something to eat. Maybe that nice cook will give you another one of his cookies." When a wan smile flickered over Aria's face Brielle sighed again and stood, grimacing when her bruised ribs sent pain lacing up her side. Walking out of her room and down the hallway to the washroom the Irishwoman briefly looked over her shoulder, sure someone else was there, watching. _Be careful. Don't fall for other people's foolishness. There is nothing to be afraid of. We are safe now. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hefting a bucket full of soapy water in one hand and a broom in the other, Brielle staggered down a dim hallway after Madame Dubois. This was only her second night of work and already she was exhausted. Even in her worst nightmares she wouldn't have been able to conceive the brutality of a common cleaning woman's life. Hours spent on her knees scrubbing the night before had exacerbated the pain in her ribs and now her arms and legs were so stiff that even walking was painful. The granular soap used to wash the floors had eaten away at her hands so that now her knuckles were cracked and bloody. Considering the extent of her physical misery it was a wonder she could even form a coherent thought. Stumbling slightly Brielle slopped some of the water onto the floor, the splash earning a frown from Kate's pinched face. Apologizing quickly, the Irish woman readjusted her grip.

Huffing, Madame Dubois opened a nearby door and pointed into the dark room. "These rooms have been out of use for almost a year, but with the opening of the Opera looming on the horizon they need to be cleaned out. Now some of them have been turned into temporary storage units, so you might have to move some things around."

"Will anyone be coming to help me then?" Brielle asked, setting her bucket down.

A short burst of laughter issued from Kate's mouth as she set a scrub brush and a lantern onto the ground. "You are the only one who will come down this hallway. So you will have to manage. I expect all of these rooms to be dusted and swept by tomorrow."

"You cannot be serious. There have to be a dozen rooms down this hall!"

"Yes, and they all should be clean by tomorrow," Madame Dubois responded evenly. Turning then, Kate walked away from where Brielle stood fuming silently, leaving her in the circle of flickering light the lantern afforded.

"Well Merry Christmas to you too!" Brielle mumbled, wiping her already dirty hands down the white smock-like apron of her uniform. _Madame Giry wasn't kidding when she said people would try to push me around. But I refuse to get used to it. I will just have to keep working until I get to their level…or above it. People will regret trying to bully me!_

Reaching up, she tightened the handkerchief over her black hair as she looked up and down the much-maligned hall. Large sweeping cobwebs waved from the ceiling over small piles of trash laying against the walls, both hinting at the mess which must lie in the rooms beyond. Wrapping her arms about her torso Brielle rubbed at the gooseflesh creeping up her arms. _This place is creepy._

Already her imagination was turning the atmosphere into something sinister. It felt like the darkness itself was pushing in around her, making it hard to breathe. Slight scratching sounds drifted to her from just beyond the reach of her lantern, and out of the corner of her eyes she could catch a glimpse of tiny glowing eyes shifting in the darkness. _Please, don't tell me there are rats in here. I hate rats…_Picking up her lantern Brielle took a deep breath and shrugged off the strange feelings, stepping into the room directly to her left.

Gazing around the room in dismay, Brielle closed her eyes against the sight of a thick layer of dust covering every object. "This is going to take forever," she moaned to herself. Turning, she walked back out into the hall to gather her supplies.

Coming to a sudden stop when she didn't see her things where she had left them, she stared at the empty space for several moments. Shaking her head she looked up and down the hall, spotting the broom and bucket lying on the floor one door down from where she stood. _That is odd, I am sure I left them right outside the room._ Quickly going to gather the supplies she hurried back to the room where she had left her lantern.

"Why do strange things always happen to me?" she asked the air as she began to sweep the floor.

The night before, her things had seemed to move of their own accord or just go missing, but she had assumed that some of the other women had moved them. Strange noises also seemed to follow her wherever she went. Loud bangs, eerie creaks, and once even distant laughter plagued her every waking moment. She had only been in the Opera's employ for two days and already the other women were afraid of her. They were saying she was cursed or that she had somehow angered the ghost.

In a way, she was glad they avoided her. It made it easier to ignore them without offending anyone. She had absolutely no interest in making friends, or even expending the energy it took to overcome her inherent shyness to be friendly. If the fools wanted to call her names behind her back, then let them. She didn't care. Nothing they could do could affect her.

Cleaning madly, ignoring her aching body, Brielle finished the room within the hour. "Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought," she said to herself, trying to fill the silence with the sound of her own voice.

Picking up her cleaning supplies, Brielle lugged everything out of the room and into the hall. Balancing everything perilously, she headed toward the next room. Just as she reached out to open the door the latch clicked on its own, the door slowly swinging open several inches. Brielle jerked back quickly - all the hairs on the back of her neck immediately standing on end. By the time she took a shaky breath her already tense nerves were thrumming warning through her head.

"Alright, that was odd," she whispered, edging a foot forward to tap it open with her foot. When the room revealed nothing but piles of boxes and several sheet covered pieces of furniture, Brielle cleared her throat nervously. "Maybe I will just leave this one for later."

Turning quickly, she lumbered as far as she could down the hallway to the room at the end, trying to get away from the unease rolling in her stomach. Dropping the broom and brush to the floor Brielle slowly opened the last dressing room, looking around the interior with trepidation. Seeing nothing suspicious, she stepped into the room and set her lantern and bucket down with a clatter. Straightening too quickly, a flash of pain from her ribs took her breath away. Lowering herself onto a nearby box she wrapped her arms about her abdomen trying to will the burning agony away.

"Breathe, just breathe," she groaned to herself as she waited for her bruises to stop throbbing.

"_Brielle…" _A strangely beautiful voice whispered almost imperceptibly through the air, sounding so close she could have sworn the word was whispered into her ear.

Leaping to her feet, her heart racing up into her throat Brielle knocked into the bucket beside her, spilling the water all over the floor. "Who is there!" she demanded shrilly, searching the darkness rapidly for any other sign of movement even as she pressed her hands against the pain in her sides. "If someone is there please say so!"

Waiting hunched over in the dim dressing room, Brielle listened for any sound besides the harsh sawing of her own breathing. When only the heavy silence she had come to associate with the Opera greeted her ears, she began to shake. As the minutes ticked by with nothing else happening, she slowly relaxed the tensed muscles in her back. Stepping around her bucket as it rolled across the floor Brielle moved around the room, checking behind boxes and looking under sheets. As she let the last dust cover fall from her grip she glanced to the back wall, only then noticing a large covered section of the wall. Tiptoeing over to it, she cautiously took a corner in her hand and gave the material a sharp jerk.

Screaming at the top of her lungs she stumbled away from the person standing behind the sheet, but as she turned to run she saw the other person do the same. Stilling, Brielle gave the object another glance and suddenly realized there was no other person in the room; she was looking at a giant bronze framed mirror and the image of her own terrified features.

Letting out a string of vivid curses she sagged against the mirror, her right hand pressed flat against its cool surface. Falling into silence, she stood very still for several moments. Slowly she brought her eyes back up to the mirror until she stared fixedly at her own battered features. She almost didn't recognize her own face set under her newly bought black hair. The bruises and dark circles under her eyes stood out in stark relief in the shadows cast by the flickering lantern on the floor. Raising her left hand to brush shakily over the stitches in her lip Brielle frowned for the briefest of moments. She couldn't help but feel as if someone else was there with her, but this presence was different than the one she had experienced over the last two days, it was warmth rather than fear which blossomed now within her belly. A longing so intense it burned the very make up of her soul shot through her as she leaned into the mirror's solid form. It had been so long since she had felt as if she were not alone. But just as soon as this small comfort had taken root within her heart the Irish woman glanced once again at her grim surroundings. Reality's harsh weight settled immediately onto her already tired shoulders. _What is the matter with me? There isn't anyone here. I am alone…alone. Oh God…_Brielle suddenly felt her eyes begin to burn.

Unexpectedly bursting into tears, the exhausted woman lowered her gaze from her chalk white reflection back to the floor. The sobs she had been suppressing for weeks welled up within her, finally breaking free of the vicious control she had imposed upon herself. Sliding to the floor Brielle fought against the weakness stealing over her body.

"I must be going crazy. What is wrong with me! Get a hold of yourself Brielle..." Sucking in air in several great gasps the Irish woman attempted to stem the flow of frustrated tears running down her face. "I can't do this. Why did I think I could do this? I am so stupid. When did I become so stupid?" Lapsing into a silence punctuated only by her own hiccups, Brielle rested the side of her head against the cool glass of the mirror.

"I can't even afford a Christmas present to give to Aria tomorrow," she murmured, completely dejected by the thought.

Sighing heavily she closed her eyes, allowing the coolness from the glass under her cheek to seep into her skin. She reached up and absently swiped at the tear tracks staining her face. The wretchedness tying knots in her stomach slowly decreased until she was merely left feeling empty inside. _I should get up and get back to work,_ she thought tiredly. _I just had a little scare but now it is time to get back to work. _

Distantly, a new sound floated to her ears through the silence. Raising her head slightly Brielle opened her eyes, trying to identify the source of the ringing notes. Turning her head toward the open door, the Irish woman listened intently to the lovely tenor voice singing far off down the hall. Quieting her sniffles Brielle relaxed the muscles in her shoulders, sitting up straighter.

"They must be holding practice late tonight," she whispered to herself, keeping her voice quiet, the better to listen to the strangely haunting melody.

But something about the echoing notes was disturbing, despite their loveliness. Somehow that voice seemed vaguely familiar, as if she had heard it before a long time ago. _But that is silly… _Sitting quietly Brielle smiled to herself, the frustration and fear still plaguing her slowly drifted away in the wake of that heavenly music. She felt oddly revived.

Climbing to her feet, Brielle walked away from the mirror and bent to right her spilt bucket. With the new soothing melody whispering in her ears she found the strength to pick up her broom and get back to work. Embarrassed now by her outburst she cleaned the room like a person possessed, sometimes humming along with the talented tenor when the chorus came along.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Brielle's movements were surprisingly easy to follow throughout the theater. For the most part she stuck close to Aria, leading the child about the theater as if she were afraid of letting the girl get out of her sight. Erik always kept a safe distance every time the little girl was with her. He recognized the danger Aria presented to him, fore even after all this time he still felt the hold the child held over his heart. It hurt him terribly to see how still and sad the little girl had become. He wondered occasionally what terrible calamity had occurred to cause this strange change, usually coming to the conclusion that it was somehow Brielle's fault. The soft feelings Erik still harbored for Aria in no way dimmed the fury he felt for her mother. If anything it only increased it.

In the last two days there had hardly been a moment when he was not trailing behind the woman unseen as she went about her work, it was safer for him when Aria was not with her. Watching her on her knees scrubbing the washroom floors was oddly satisfying. Erik couldn't suppress the surge of superiority that rushed through his body every time he saw her wince and rub at the aches in her lower back. It felt good to know the lying trollop was brought just as low now as she had brought him all those months ago. Finally, he felt like some amount of justice was being done. Finally, people were getting what they deserved.

And when he realized Madame Dubois was leading Brielle down the hallway where the "haunted" dressing room was, a smug smile flickered along the corners of his mouth. _She will be alone now. There won't be anyone else near. Now I can have some fun. _

Listening from his position in the secret passages running the length of the hall, Erik waited until he heard Madame Dubois' footsteps retreating down the hallway. Depressing a switch in the wall, the masked man slipped out from behind the wall through a panel as it slid open. Striding silently across the dark room he slunk out into the hallway cautiously, moving with the controlled grace of a predator on the hunt. Noting that Brielle was still talking to herself in the room across the hall, Erik gathered up her cleaning supplies and dumped them off one door further down. Hurrying back to the shadows of the dressing room he waited behind the closed door until he could hear Brielle's confused exclamation from outside.

Smiling like a fiend he leaned lazily up against the stone wall, relishing the contented feeling filling up his belly. It had been a long time since he felt this alive. _Yes, not since I left that house have I felt so good. It is like waking from a dream. Now I have a purpose to my life again. To make her pay for what she did. _

A great deal of time passed before Erik shook himself from the vengeful warmth gathering within him. Pricking up his ears, he could hear Brielle coming out of the room across the hall and moving towards the one he was in. Moving quickly he reached the door to his room before her, turning the knob just before she could touch it. Pulling back into the shadowy mountains of discarded boxes he waited until she fled down the hall before stalking over to the back wall and disappearing once again into the passages only he knew about.

Strolling casually through the blackness of his domain Erik reached the end of the passage in mere moments. Slowing his movements as he stepped up to the mirror, Christine's mirror, the masked man momentarily let old memories break open in his mind. But as the pain which walked hand in hand with those thoughts began to beat ruthlessly against his battered heart Erik quickly closed his mind to them, drawing up the walls against his hurts which had never failed him before.

Black boiling hatred rolled up the back of his throat as he fought against the old memories plaguing his thoughts. It was easier to hate. It was familiar and comfortable. And right now the only object he had to focus all that anger on was on the other side of a covered mirror, just a few feet away by the sound of it.

Before he knew what was happening he opened his mouth and murmured her name, automatically altering his voice, projecting it so that it seemed to appear out of the air itself. Clamping a hand over his mouth in shock at his own audacity, Erik silently backed away from the mirror. He listened as a flurry of sound issued from behind the darkened mirror, signaling Brielle's search for the mysterious voice. _Strange, how different her reaction is. When Christine first heard me call to her she automatically thought me an angel while Brielle is searching for a man. Funny…_

Drawing closer to the blackened glass once more Erik tilted his head to the side, trying to discern where exactly Brielle was in the room. When the blasted woman pulled the mirror's covering off with a jerk the masked man stumbled back foolishly, certain that the scream which filled the air was because she had somehow caught sight of him. Nearly tripping over his own feet, Erik almost turned to race off down the dark corridor before his common sense could return.

_What am I doing - this doesn't make sense. She could not have seen me…I am being stupid. _Turning toward the flickering light now spilling through the mirror's surface, Erik braced himself against the sight of the woman standing less than a foot away from him. _I can handle it. I can see her again without feeling anything. I can…_

As he brought his uncertain gaze up to Brielle's face he was shocked by what he saw. The figure standing before him was not the confident, lively Irishwoman he remembered from all those months ago. Rather it was a ghost standing before him now, her eyes dark and flat as tarnished silver coins. Until this very moment he had not had the opportunity to see Brielle up close - his constant observation over the last two days had always been at a distance. What he saw now was completely unexpected and slightly disturbing. As he traced his gaze along the contours of Brielle's features Erik felt a spark of pity stir within him. _This is bad…it was easier to hate her the way I remembered…but this…this…_

An ugly greenish-yellow bruise rode high up on Brielle's cheek and if he wasn't mistaken there were at least two stitches in the middle of her bottom lip. Quickly Erik's eyebrows drew down into a severe frown as he stared transfixed into Brielle's hollow eyes. Any satisfaction he had gained from torturing her over the last two days melted away as she stared unknowingly into his face. Despite his best efforts to prevent it, the seed of pity within his heart took root and began to push against the borders of his anger. _What happened to her to make her look like that? The light has gone out of her eyes… _

Slowly, before he could think better of it, Erik brought his hand up and laid it against the glass over Brielle's splayed fingers. Pressing his gloved palm against the glass it felt almost as if he were touching her, and he found suddenly, to his dismay, that he _wanted_ to touch her, to sooth the deadened wasteland he saw within her gaze. And when those wide lamp-like eyes welled up with unshed tears Erik found himself silently willing those tears away, finding himself not strong enough to stand before her wretchedness without being moved.

Brielle's legs gave out under her as the sobs she had been holding back broke free. Following her to the floor, his hand still pressed against hers, Erik crouched down low on the floor. _What is wrong with me? She betrayed me…why do I feel this way? Why do I feel I should comfort her? God, why am I so weak? Get up…leave her here…turn around and leave… _But Erik found he couldn't do it. Something about the bottomless despair darkening her eyes was far too familiar. He had seen the same rupture of spirit in his own gaze that he now saw in Brielle's.

Leaning his forehead against the cool glass before him Erik gave into the compassion chipping away at the ice around his heart. Opening his mouth, careful to project his voice out to the hallway beyond the room, Erik quietly sang a comforting melody of his own composition.

Brielle's reaction was immediate. At the sound of his voice she raised her head from the mirror and gazed off down the hallway, toward where the music apparently was coming from. Her sniffling sobs quieted as she tilted her head to the side, listening in rapture to the notes drifting through the air. After several minutes had passed, the young woman climbed to her feet with renewed vigor. The moment her hand pulled away from his on the glass he could feel its absence deep within his soul.

Erik continued to serenade Brielle as the Irishwoman went back to work, the fear and hollowness in her features replaced with an expression of determination. Closing his eyes the masked man slowly drew the last note out into silence, leaving Brielle safe in the afterglow of his music. Standing slowly, trailing his fingers up the surface of the mirror, Erik turned his head away from the sight of Brielle hard at work. Dropping his hand down to his side he stalked off down the corridor, shaking his head in disbelief over his own strange behavior.

Apparently, he was still under Brielle's spell. Slamming a fist into the nearest stone wall Erik let out his confused frustration in the only way he could. _Blast it all to hell!_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**The following is a side note for those of you who were wondering about how much Brielle knows about Erik's past. Juliana wrote this up for you all when she saw some of your questions in the reviews. So here you go. I hope this answers everyone's questions.**

What Brielle knows:

O.G. - When Brielle first came to the Opera House, she heard rumors of a mysterious "Opera Ghost." She does not believe in ghosts, and thus is cynical about the whole affair, writing off the strange occurrences as coincidences blown out of proportion by the overactive imaginations of the theater's inhabitants. Then she receives the threatening note from "O.G." and begins to suspect that someone is perpetuating the myth of the ghost in order to manipulate people through their fears. While she has heard some rumors, she does not know about the ghost's penchant for masks, not about his supposed inhabitance of the lower cellars.

Don Juan - Brielle actually saw very little of the important proceedings during this time. She noticed the actor switch, obviously, and was enthralled by his voice (please note that she has never heard "Erik" sing). However, her realization of her vision's truth occurred just seconds before Erik's unmasking. So she never saw "Don Juan's" face, and she has no reason to believe him deformed, as Piangi was also wearing a mask. She also never saw him cut down the chandelier or kidnap Christine - she was too busy trying to get people out of danger, and never even looked up at the stage during this time. So to her, the mysterious man onstage is nothing more than an understudy - he has no connection with the disaster. When she went onto the stage upon seeing Piangi, she did notice the rope around his neck, but did not have a chance to examine it before she fell. Therefore she has no reason to suspect that he was strangled, as she did not actually see that it was a noose.

Underneath the Opera House - When Brielle was under the theater, she ran into a sleazy, grimy man who informed her that there were people hunting for the Opera Ghost. She figures that it is the Ghost who has been blamed for the whole disaster. Thus when she finds Erik in the cellars, she assumes that he was attacked by someone who had mistaken him for the Opera Ghost. In her compassion for the injured and desolate man, she never even considers that he may be the "man behind the ghost." Although Erik is unmasked during their journey out, between the smoke and the darkness she never sees his face. He puts on the mask once they have exited the building, as she runs off to get help.

Erik - While Erik is recovering at her home, Brielle never removes the mask, thinking (quite accurately) that he might be sensitive about his looks for one reason or another. She has seen plenty in her life as a self-trained doctor and the daughter of a battlefield surgeon, thus she has no particular desire to see his face - as far as she is concerned, it doesn't matter. From her interactions with Erik, she learns he is a musician, but although he has played both piano and violin in her presence, she has never heard him sing (i.e. she cannot identify him as the man who came on as Don Juan). He tells Brielle and Connner that he worked with the managers at the Opera House and they accept this story. Brielle finds out bits and pieces of Erik's past, but they primarily have to do with his childhood - she knows that he was abused and neglected because of his face.

The Incident with the Paris Police - When the police come to her door (Ch22), they question her about the night of Don Juan Triumphant. They ask her if she noticed anyone suspicious-looking. However, they do not mention a facial deformity or a mask of any sort, nor Christine's kidnapping, nor do they say that it was the man playing Don Juan who caused all the havoc (whether or not _they_ know this is a moot point). However, when they ask about anyone "unusual," Brielle thinks of Erik, realizing that most people will be taken aback and suspicious of the mask. Thus she concocts her lie about him being her husband. She considers this to be a way of avoiding unfounded accusations against someone who just happens to look different. (It is worth noting that Andrew, who wrote the letter to the police does not at this point have any reason to suspect that Erik is the Opera Ghost, either. He is hoping for the same thing that Brielle fears - namely, that Erik will be accused simply because he sticks out.) After the police leave, he nearly tells Brielle the truth, but they are interrupted by Conner's return. In Ch29, Erik once again is on the verge of telling her, but this time Brielle walks away, intent on luring him out of the barn. By the time he catches up with her, the conversation has taken a very different turn.

Back at the Opera House - Conner has made inquiries at the Opera House, trying to locate Erik. He has subsequently discovered that Erik does not work there and never has. However, Conner is not in contact with Brielle at this time, so she knows nothing of this discovery. As of yet, she has not thought to ask the same question.


	39. Merry Christmas

**Hey all here is the next chapter for everyone. Hope you all enjoy it. **

**But I do have some bad news Juliana has decided to give up her job as my beta for personal reasons. Though I understand why she might have decided to do this she has sort of left me in the lurch, big time. So I need a new beta very badly. It is not a very well kept secret that I am the world's worst speller. So if you have the time and some grammatical skills I would love for some help. Also Juliana and I had an open working relationship in which she helped with far more than just grammar, she always helped me stay clear from the cliché. I would like to continue this type of relationship with my future new beta. So give me an email or mention something in your reviews if you are interested. **

**But anyway thanks for all of the nice reviews. **

Chapter 39: Merry Christmas

Swinging her now empty bucket back and forth beside her Brielle strolled casually down a darkened hallway, her lantern held out before her, leading the way through the gloom. After eleven hours of cleaning she felt every impact of her feet against the ground like a shock through her system. And yet, despite the physical misery plaguing her limbs Brielle felt strangely light hearted. It was late Christmas morning now, from what she could tell from the time, though by the looks of the inside of the theater it could still be midnight for all of the light in the place. But for some reason she wasn't afraid of the shadows anymore. The oppressive atmosphere which had been haunting her since her arrival apparently had dissipated sometime during the night.

Humming one of her favorite Christmas carols under her breath, Brielle made a sharp left behind the stage, passing by an alcove full of the salvaged props from the theater's last performance. For a moment she paused and held her light up to shine against the wall, squinting at the painted flames that seemed to rise all the way to the ceiling. _I remember these…the night of Don Juan Triumphant…during that last scene there was a fire like this, just before the real one started…_

A shadow passed Brielle on the other side of the curtains, disturbing the air just enough to send a ripple across the backdrop. The thin material before her billowed forward just then on the sudden gust of air, making her step back slightly. "Hello? Is someone there?" she asked hesitantly, the fear she had expected to rise up within her staying at bay as she waited for a reply.

When no one answered her Brielle sighed and moved on, rolling her shoulders to work a kink out of her spine. Making another sharp left the Irishwoman swept around the end of the backdrops and ran right into someone coming the other way. Falling backward onto her behind, she let out a loud gasp which was echoed by a high pitched scream from the other person on the ground.

Catching her breath quickly Brielle looked over at the young blonde girl screeching at the top of her lungs a foot away from her. "Shhh. For God's sake it is alright. It is just me. Calm down," she stated as she reached out a calming hand and steadied the girl.

Stilling at Brielle's touch the girl opened her eyes and stared her in the face, a look of embarrassment stealing over the blonde's features as she realized she had not run into some dastardly criminal in the dark. The girl let out a nervous laugh and sat up a little straighter.

"My word," she twittered. "You nearly scared the life right out of me."

"Sorry, I didn't see you there until we ran into each other," Brielle replied, a small smile softening her features as they eyed each other, the girl's laughter, though nervous, was infectious. Slowly climbing to her feet the Irishwoman began to gather her cleaning supplies, righting the lantern quickly before it could go out.

Likewise climbing to her feet the blonde extended a delicate hand. "My name is Meg," she said with a smile. "I am a dancer here at the theater, if not a very good one."

Hesitating slightly to take Meg's hand in hers, Brielle looked to the ground. She had quickly made a set of rules for herself once she started work in the Opera, and making friends was one of the things she had decided against. It would be easier to leave if she needed to...if Andrew found her…without any emotional attachments. Blowing out a breath of air Brielle glanced back up at Meg's inviting face and reached out to grasp the girl's hand. _No need to be rude to people. Having a little chat with another person isn't a crime…it might be nice to talk to someone around my own age for once…even if she is a dancer._

"My name is Brielle," she said slowly before adding, "I am one of the cleaning ladies here." Having confessed her lower station Brielle was sure the girl would quickly be on her way, but much to her surprise Meg merely smiled and bent down to help her pick up her things.

"You sound like you are from England," Meg said conversationally as she leaned on the handle of Brielle's broom, a dreamy expression lighting her eyes. "I have a friend who went off to England last year to get married. I wish I could go somewhere like England…or anywhere would do…" Stopping there, Meg laughed a little. "Sorry, I am rambling to you, and we hardly even know each other."

"Actually I am from Ireland originally. And it is ok, about the rambling that is. I have been on my own all night. It is nice to hear someone else's voice. It gets very quiet around here when most of the people are sleeping. I mean, if they hadn't had that late practice last night I might have gone a little crazy from the silence." Blinking in surprise at how easily she found it to talk to this girl, Brielle suddenly grew quiet.

Meg stared at Brielle quizzically for a moment. "There wasn't a late practice last night," she finally said.

"What? But I thought…"

"As if the singers would actually stay up late to practice," she continued, as she looked over her shoulder into the darkness. "No one likes to be around at night." Turning back to look at Brielle, Meg shifted slightly. "Speaking of which, would you mind if I walked with you for awhile? I was heading back to the dormitories when I ran into you…and my candle has gone out."

Still mulling over the fact that the singing she had listened to the night before wasn't from the performers Brielle could only nod, following Meg when the girl set off down the hallway, the broom still in the girl's hand. "Is it because of the ghost that everyone fears the dark? That is all anyone ever talks about…the ghost." Brielle finally said as she came up along side of Meg.

The younger girl thought about it for a moment before answering, her glittering smile dimming to a meditative frown. "No, not exactly. If you had asked me that a year ago I would have said yes…but now things are different. I think people are afraid of the memory of the ghost more than anything."

"Really? What an odd theory. So you think the ghost is gone now?" Brielle asked, looking over at Meg with an incredulous expression.

"Oh, I know he is gone now," Meg replied, gripping Brielle's broom a little tighter. She glanced over at the Irish woman for a moment as if she were considering something before opening her mouth again. "I know I just met you, but I suppose it can't hurt speaking about these things now."

Taking a deep breath Meg flashed a crooked half heart smile. "At the time people used to believe all the strange things that happened to be because of a ghost. We even gave him names, the Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera. Odd things went on for years, but we all got along fine enough. The things that happened were almost like pranks…playful even. But what we didn't know was that everything that happened, the hauntings, weren't really because of a ghost."

"Excuse me?"

"It was a flesh and blood man that haunted this place. I saw him with my own eyes."

Coming to a sudden halt, Brielle stared over at Meg with a frown twisting her features. "Are you serious? This ghost that everyone has been talking about was a man?" Meg nodded with a shrug. "But why did he allow people to think he wasn't real?"

"I don't think our phantom wanted anyone to know that he was real. If people had known they would never have let him live in peace."

Beginning forward again, Brielle mulled over the information Meg was giving her. "But how could a person move about this place without being seen?"

"He didn't live where everyone else did. People used to talk about seeing shadows moving around in the cellars, but back then no one really took it seriously. But the night of Don Juan, when the fire started, I went down into the basements…I saw where that man lived for all those years. It gave me chills. To think of a person living down in that darkness… Even despite the things he did in the end...I always felt badly for him."

"What happened to this man?" Brielle finally asked when Meg fell into silence. Like the younger woman she was disturbed by the thought of a human being living in the labyrinthine vaults underneath the Opera. Memories of the hours she had spent wandering in the dark flickered into her head. _That was the night I found Erik down there. How in the world could anyone live in a place like that? The cold, the damp, the darkness…it is more like a tomb than a building's basement._

"Most people think he died. No one has really seen anything particularly odd since. Though some people still blame all the accidents of the theater on the ghost, I don't think they really feel he is still here. Perhaps it is better that he is dead now. At least he doesn't have to hide behind a mask anymore."

The final words of Meg's sentence hung heavily in the air, wheedling their way into the forefront of Brielle's mind. _A mask? The man who lived below the Opera wore a mask?_ Raising a startled hand to cover the gasp climbing up the back of her throat Brielle stared fixedly at the floor. _What am I thinking? They couldn't be the same person. I mean yes Erik wore a mask…and I found him down there but…but it had to have been a coincidence. He couldn't have done the things I hear the opera ghost blamed for. I have heard some say that it was the phantom's fault the chandelier fell…Erik may have had a temper that could put an army to flight, but he wouldn't have actually tried to hurt people. Though God knows how much he hurt me… using my family for his own purposes and then leaving when he no longer needed us…_

When Meg came to a stop before one of the dancer's dormitories Brielle almost ran into the back of her. The young blonde turned around with a smile and handed the Irish woman her broom. "Well, this is where I stay. Thank you for walking me back. Sorry for scaring you with all the old ghost stories."

Shaking her head mutely, Brielle gripped the broom with a white knuckled fist. "You didn't scare me."

"You are as white as a sheet."

"I have a lot on my mind," Brielle stated a little too defensively before taking a step away from Meg. "It was nice to meet you. Next time when you feel like taking a walk, maybe you should take a lantern instead of a candle." Hastily trying to leave this nice girl behind as quickly as possible Brielle waved to Meg and fled back down the hall in the direction of her own room, wanting nothing more than to put the things the girl had said out of her mind.

Walking down the hallway quickly Brielle left the better kept up areas where the dancers and other artists stayed into the plainer section for the janitorial staff. Stopping by a whitewashed door the Irish woman stuffed all of her cleaning supplies into the dark closet, keeping only the lantern in her possession. Her unusually large cleaning assignment had kept her at work longer than normal – all the other women's supplies were already in the small room. Few people remained in the vicinity and Brielle figured that they must have left the Opera House, visiting friends and family for Christmas. _Lucky them…_ Shutting the door quietly Brielle turned and moved to the next door down the hall, leaning her hand momentarily against the rough, unpolished wood.

_Why is it that every time I turn around here there is something else that reminds me of Erik? I thought I had finally gotten rid of him. I was even willing to marry Andrew to get him out of my mind. _Taking her hand from the door Brielle rubbed at the chill creeping up her arms. _Why can't I shake him? _

Letting out a breath Brielle straightened the dingy white apron over her plain brown dress. Reaching out a hand she wrapped her fingers around the doorknob, on the verge of opening the door when a sudden burst of laughter made her pause. Listening intently Brielle felt a smile flicker at the edges of her mouth. _What a happy sound_. But as Brielle continued to listen to the giggling from within the dormitory room, the smile slowly grew into a grin. She recognized that sound, though she had not heard it for many, many months. _Aria, that is Aria laughing like that!_

Quickly jerking open the door Brielle burst into the large room, hope coloring her starkly white face, flushing her cheeks a healthy pink. Aria sat on the floor with her back to the door, her little head resting on the edge of the bed, intently watching something that rested on the covers. Clasping her hands in front of her, Brielle watched as her daughter jumped and turned toward her, the smile still spread wide over the child's face. Upon seeing her mother Aria climbed to her feet, scooping up the thing upon the bed, and came running over to where Brielle stood. Excitement was clearly printed all over her little face, her eyes bright and glittering with just a little of the old mischief she once had.

"Merry Christmas, love. Why are you sitting in here all alone? I thought you were playing with the other children while momma was working." Holding out her arms and kneeling down, Brielle caught up the little girl in a quick hug.

Ignoring her mother's question Aria tugged at Brielle's sleeve, pushing the thing she held in her hands forward and into the Irish woman's line of sight. Looking down with a smile Brielle took the thing Aria was holding out for her. Careful not to drop it, Brielle slowly studied the object in her hands.

A tiny carved monkey sat cross legged on a wooden base dressed like an Arabian sultan and hold a pair of shiny cymbals. Running a finger over the rich silk covering the funny little animal, Brielle furrowed her brow slightly as she turned the thing over. "What a lovely little thing," she murmured, a furrow appearing between her brows. Something about the monkey was strangely familiar. A distant memory flickered into her mind of another toy monkey, though that one was far plainer and made of soft gray cloth rather than silk. _I had a little toy monkey a long time ago. Conner mentioned something about me losing it…_

Aria nodded enthusiastically and took the statue from her mother, holding it close as she turned it over and wound a little lever on the back. Setting the monkey right again Aria let out another little squeal of laughter as the animal's arms began to move back and forth, beating the cymbals together with a slow rhythm. When the strange thing began to play a soft tune Brielle couldn't help but grin along with her daughter.

"Where did you get this?" Brielle asked over the toy's music, not really expecting an answer.

Much to Brielle's shock Aria opened her mouth to reply. "It is a p-present," she said simply, effectively shocking her mother into stunned silence.

Feeling a slice of guilt tug at her heart, Brielle could only continue to smile at her daughter. This was the first time in all her life that the holiday season had not been filled with gifts; she just could not afford such extravagance right now. But now someone had taken it upon themselves to give her little girl some Christmas cheer in the form of this strange little toy. Maybe there was a little human decency left in the world.

"Do you know who gave it to you?" Brielle asked, wanting to thank the generous person at a later date.

Nodding, Aria kissed the monkey on the top of its head and hugged it tight. The little girl turned her large glittering eyes upward to grin up at her mother. "T-The g-ghost gave it t-to m-m-me," she said quietly, before turning and skipping off to the other side of the room, leaving Brielle behind to worry over her strange answer.

"The ghost did?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christmas Day in Paris dawned cold and bright, the sun reflecting off the newly fallen snow with almost blinding intensity. The morning was still young and the city streets were still relatively quiet outside the Parisian police station, many of the officers themselves still sleeping soundly in their own beds, when a furious bellow issued from behind the station's closed doors. Heavy footsteps beat rhythmically outside the chief of police's office as some junior officers wrung their hands nervously nearby. With his hands clasped tightly behind his back Conner turned on his heel and marched away from the chief's door, stopping only when he had come to the far wall. Clenching and unclenching his fists behind his back, the redheaded man barely refrained from driving his fist through the beige plaster of the station's wall.

"Did you not tell me at the door that the Chief was already in today?" the Irishman inquired sharply, turning his head slightly to stare fixedly at the group of young officers behind him.

"Sir, please calm down. It is Christmas, if the chief is late who can blame him?" one of the young men replied nervously. Twirling his cap in both hands the officer took an unconscious step backward when Conner turned fully around, fury staining the redhead's face crimson.

Purposely using his imposing size to his advantage the normally good natured man let loose a string of vicious curses so caustic the young men before him all gasped in horror. "I have a crime to report and that god damned vat of lard is at home sleeping the day away!" he shouted, unclasping his hands to gesture wildly through the air.

Making a calming gesture with both hands the young officer who had spoken before stepped forward, glancing around the hallway nervously. "Please don't say such things sir. I am sure the chief is on his way. If you have been witness to a crime I would be happy to take your report."

Unwilling to hear the logic in the younger man's words Conner raised both hands to run through his already unkempt hair, the panic eating away at his insides nearly driving him to physical violence. _How long has it been now? I don't even know how long she has been missing. Damn it, I shouldn't have stormed off from the party. I should have stayed…What is wrong with me? I should have protected her…Damn…Damn…Damn. _"Do not patronize me you puffed up little…" he started, his voice rising to a roar before a door down the hall swung open disturbing his tirade.

"What the hell is going on in here? Who the hell are you?" boomed a highly irritated voice from down the hall as a large pot-bellied man lumbered toward the small group of agitated men, pointing accusingly toward Conner.

Insolently crossing his arms over his chest Conner stared the older man down without even the slightest hint of respect. "And who are you?"

Straightening his plain dark coat, the older man pursed his lips. "I am the Chief of this station, Sir. What are you doing here? You are disturbing the peace."

Quickly turning to the office he had been pacing outside for the last twenty minutes, Conner reached out and opened the closed door without permission. Stalking into the room beyond he turned and waited impatiently for the older man to follow. After a brief tense moment the chief sighed and walked past the redhead and into his own office. The older man slowly waddled across the room to sit behind the plain oak desk at the far end. Pulling out a pair of moon shaped spectacles, the chief frowned darkly over their rims at Conner as the Irishman paced about the room.

"Now what is it you were bellowing about out in my hallway?" he asked politely, his tone just bordering on patronizing.

Rounding on the chubby man Conner fisted his hands at his sides, grinding his teeth against the overwhelming urge to scream. Panic clawed through his brain making it near impossible to focus on the task at hand. Uncontrollable tremors ran from the muscles about his mouth to the very tips of his toes, the prolonged state of heightened anxiety finally wreaking havoc on his body after two days of blind terror.

Just forty eight hours before, he had returned to the Donovan manor with his tail between his legs, fully set on making amends with his sister in time to celebrate the holidays with her and Aria. He remembered specifically feeling, as he rode up the winding drive to the main house, that the weather was surprisingly cold considering the time of year. Day old snow lay over the French countryside, carpeting the fields in endless white as far as the eye could see. Only the rust colored mud on the roads and the black of the naked trees offered up colors to disrupt the monotony of the bright snow. But Conner remembered how, despite the tranquility of the countryside, a feeling of dread had stolen over him as he rode beneath the whispering skeletal limbs of the hemlocks lining the road, a secret part at the back of his mind murmuring hints of foreboding in time with every creak of his saddle and moan of the winter locked trees.

At the time the redhead had merely shrugged his shoulders, dislodging the uncomfortable feeling with that one simple motion, continuing on his way blissfully unaware of the chaos ensuing in the manor as he pulled up by the front door. Conner remembered grinning like a fool as he untied several packages from his saddle bags; he tucked the presents for his sister and Aria under his arm and strode up to the front door. Raising one hand he gave the door a loud rap with his knuckles.

When no immediate answer came to his knocking Conner had frowned ever so slightly as he reached out and knocked again. Several more minutes passed without anyone coming to the door. If it hadn't been for the shuffling and muted conversations from somewhere within the building he would have sworn no one was home - the place had a quiet deserted feel to it.

Having quickly grown impatient Conner leaned forward and turned the ornate brass knob, finding the front door open. Stepping into the main entrance hall the redhead had set the gifts down on a nearby table, gazing about the hall. He remembered calling out into the quiet of the house, noting that the talking down the hall stopped at his inquiry. An older maid had come rushing out of a side room a few moments later, waving her hands in the air wildly, screeching at Conner to vacate the premises at once.

When he refused to be shooed off by the over reacting maid the woman had nearly started swelling up in irritation. Ignoring the woman's odd behavior and downright scathing tone, Conner flashed the maid an arrogant smile. "Don't be absurd," he had said walking past the woman. "You must have seen me here before. I am Brielle's brother. I came to spend Christmas with her."

Chasing after the redhead the older woman raced along on his heels wringing her hands and continuing to demand that he leave at once. "You don't understand sir. You cannot be here right now. The household…it is not prepared to house any guests. We are in an uproar."

Vaguely he remembered asking her what she was talking about. And when she replied, she turned his lopsided grin upside down. In a few short words she told him that his little sister had been missing for a few days and the master of the house was currently out looking for her. Unwilling to believe the woman's tale, Conner had insisted she repeat herself several times.

Ever since that moment Conner had lived in a dim world of emotional distress; sounds became muffled to his ears as his racing brain constantly muttered scattered strains of unfinished thoughts, light and color turned to muted gray within the confines of his new panic stricken world. It was amazing really that a person could continue to live in such a state.

Shaking his head in yet another attempt to focus on the task at hand, Conner put aside his musings. Stalking over to the very edge of the Police Chief's desk, the redhead began to pace in front of it. "I have a crime to report sir. As I understand it so far the police have not gotten involved."

Sitting up a little straighter in his chair the officer lost some of the annoyance pinching up his face, actual concern flickered across the man's pudgy face. "What crime is it you need reporting? One of the junior officers could have handled it sir. We have a fine crime fighting unit here in Paris and…"

Turning suddenly and placing both hands on the edge of the desk Conner interrupted the older man. "Just listen to me for a moment. My sister has been missing for several days. The staff told me she disappeared in the middle of the night along with her four year old daughter."

Frowning now the chief cleared his throat. "My, no wonder you are acting so strangely sir." Bending down to fish several sheets of paper from a drawer the man picked up a pen and glanced Conner's way. "Now let's go over this again. Where was she last seen and who exactly saw her?"

Collapsing into a nearby chair Conner ran a trembling hand over his face. "I talked to half a dozen of the staff who said they saw her at dinner time but not after. Actually…they didn't seem to recall much of that evening…lying most likely. Both her and her daughter, Aria, were last seen at the Donovan manor about…"

Pausing in his notes the chief set his pen down. "Did you say Donovan?"

"Yes, like I was saying…"

Standing slowly the police chief smiled reassuringly. "There is no need to worry so sir. If you had asked Lord Donovan before coming here you would have known that he has already contacted us. We have officers out searching for your sister already."

"No, you don't understand. She was acting so strangely before all this happened! It is most likely Lord Donovan's fault she is gone. That son of a bitch is absolutely crazy!"

"Now, sir…"

"No, listen. Go and question him! Ask him what really happened that night. Ask him why no one is telling me anything…why they all say they can't remember!"

Smacking his lips slightly the police chief stepped around his desk and placed a placating hand on Conner's shoulder. "Your sister is being taken care of. We have half the force looking for her. We will find her. We will catch the man who stole her away."

Starting Conner blinked down at the older man. "What are you talking about?"

"Lord Donovan told us about how an old servant with a grudge most likely kidnapped her. We are waiting for the ransom note."

"What?"

"Unfortunately Donovan could not remember the man's name. But he did mention what he looked like. By the sound of it he has the right person. Only criminals wear masks. But don't worry - when we find him we will find her. Even if he is keeping her in a hidden location. We won't fail in this."

As the chief slowly led him toward the door Conner tried to wrap his brain around what the other man said. "Wait a second did you say the suspect wears a mask!"

"Yes, can't be too hard to find him even if we haven't gotten a lead yet. It is just a matter of time." Smiling now, sure he had helped the distraught Irishman, the chief ushered Conner out the door of his office.

Shrugging out of the older man's hand Conner turned toward him. "Wait a second…"

"As soon as we hear anything I will make sure you are told. Good day sir." Motioning to several junior officers, the chief retreated back into the safety of his office.

"Hey wait a moment!" Conner began, trying to follow the chief, when a hand took him by the elbow.

"Come with me now sir," a rather large sergeant stated politely as he nudged Conner toward the front door.

"No, I am not done! I have to tell him about…"

Smiling thinly the officer nodded his head without actually listening to the redhead. The pair made their way to the entrance to the building where the officer unceremoniously gave Conner a shove out the front door. Left to stand bemused in the snow the Irishman gazed up and down the street, lost as what to do. Raising both hands to pull at his wild red hair Conner let out a guttural growl feral enough to send several pedestrians skittering away from him down the street.

"What the hell do I do now?"


	40. Only a Man

**Hello again all my loyal readers. Thanks for sticking with me everyone! All of the Beta craziness has finally been worked out. Hurray! So everyone say hello to my new editor Terpsichore314. Hurray for her! She is a beta for another story and yet has found the time to take mine on as well. And so far she has done fantastic work. **

**Oh and thanks to all of the fantastic people who offered to help me out as betas as well. I really am grateful for every offer. And once again kudos to all of my regular reviewers as well as those who have reviewed for the first time last week. Hope everyone enjoys this next chapter! **

Chapter 40: Only a Man

The deepest recesses of the Opera's cellars hung silent as a grave, the shadows melding one into another until nothing but darkness remained. The air sighed through the stone corridors, as if issuing from the mouth of some great living creature, bringing with each gust a rush of wintry moist air. Dripping water pulsed constantly in the background, creating the only sound within the darkness and feeding the thin layer of green algae coating the stone floors; the atmosphere more closely resembling that of a long abandoned tomb, bloodless and still, rather than the foundations of one of the world's finest theaters.

Few of those who patronized the Opera Populaire knew what secrets the opulent building hid beneath the Baroque architecture and gilded sculptures. Unknowingly they strolled over highly polished marble and gazed into the many mirrors, all the while standing directly over seven stories of underground passages. Happy in their ignorance, not a single soul ever considered they were walking over the dark domain of the resident creatures of the night.

But one corner of the vast underground darkness shone out with a tiny pinnacle of light, harboring the only life and warmth to be found beneath the tons of hard stone masonry. In the lowest cellar, beside the underground lake the Opera was built over, signs of human life existed. Candlelight flickered out over the dark water from behind a slimy iron portcullis, throwing bars of light out into the darkness. The sound of the water lapping against a series of low stone steps subtly filled the deafening quiet, alleviating the pressure in the air, making it bearable.

Just to the right of the stairs, set up on a large ridge of stone, an enormous pipe organ squatted, pompously overlooking the mess of scattered paper, ink wells, and various writing utensils abandoned upon the floor. Layers upon layers of thick durable material covered both the walls and floor in several areas, effectively blocking out the cold and moisture, making the room relatively warm compared to the rest of the cellars. Through an open doorway a dim corridor stretched, leading away from the main room and past a series of closed rooms to a large arched doorway; the light from a single lonely candle shone out through the door, throwing a hunched shadow across the floor.

Erik bent over the lip of an old oak chest, a pile of dusty odd and ends heaped at his side as he pulled yet another ragged object from the box. It had been years since he had gone through some of these older trunks, many of the objects he was now finding he had long since forgotten about. Sighing Erik leaned back on his heels, raising a hand to rub at his burning eyes.

It was very late and he was growing increasingly tired, but he just couldn't seem to quiet his mind enough to go to sleep. In fact, he had not slept an entire night through for many nights, and he knew why. Like many things his sleeplessness could be directly connected to Brielle's recent arrival at the opera. The woman was disrupting his life on every possible level. Physically, mentally, and emotionally he felt drained, as if by just being in the same building Brielle was sucking the very life from his body.

For days now he had made a marked effort to stay as far away from the woman as he could, thinking that perhaps if he just didn't see her he would find the strength to push her from his mind. But so far his brilliant plan had gloriously blown up in his face. Instead of being excised from his thoughts, the witch now plagued his every waking moment; crawling into the farthest recesses of his mind, filling his dreams with images and smells he would rather forget.

Turning his head to the side Erik fought against the memories clamoring for his notice. _She has exactly six different smiles…I remember. One for when she is nervous, one for when she is humoring you… _Heaving a great sigh, Erik let out a frustrated bark of a laugh and looked back down into the trunk at his feet.

"God, it is final. I am losing my mind. I have finally given into the pressures of the solitary nature of my existence and lost my bloody wits," he murmured to himself as he carefully pulled a dusty old rag out of the trunk with the very tips of his finger and his thumb.

Tossing the cloth to the side Erik rolled his eyes. "And now I am resorting to talking to myself. Fantastic. I suppose it isn't a very large stretch of the imagination to…" Stopping suddenly, the masked man blinked down at the open trunk, at the small gray object which had been lying under the rag.

Slowly Erik reached out and pulled the object from the confines of the box. Standing swiftly he turned and rushed over to the single candle on the small table in the middle of the room, holding the bundle of stuffed gray cloth out to the light. The corners of his mouth turned upward slightly in disbelief as he recognized the toy in his hands. A hand-sized gray monkey rested in the curve of his palm, its ugly little face pinched where the stitches had come loose. Nudging one of the monkey's arms with a finger, the smile upon Erik's face slipped away, only to be replaced with a nervous uncertain frown.

_How long has it been since I have seen this? Not since I came here…not since… _Letting out a shaky breath, he ran his bottom lip under his teeth. _Funny, it was this little monkey that inspired me to make that music box. It was the only toy I ever remember getting as a child; odd that it came into my possession whilst I was under the rule of those brutish Gypsies. Now that I think about it…how did I ever get this thing in the first place? _Furrowing his brow in thought the masked man considered this for some time. Dark images flickered into his thoughts; the inside of a ratty yellow tent, the solid black shafts of steel bars. And the feeling of eyes upon him made his skin crawl with their touch.

_No, focus now…you were trying to remember something specific...do not think about everything…just the question…where did I get this toy?_ The veil of his memory lifted then, clearing his thoughts, and out of the darkness arose something he hadn't known was there before. The bars, the tent returned in a rush but with them came something else. A small white hand came through the darkness to clutch at the bars of his memory, and the pale image of a toddler's face floated in and out of focus. A blue lace bonnet framed the little face as the child stared unflinchingly up at him with large oddly light-colored eyes. Without a sound the little girl raised her other hand and plopped the stuffed monkey onto the landing of his cage, pushing the thing towards him solemnly. Just as he remembered reaching out for the offered toy the memory faded back into the harshness of what had been his reality at the time.

Climbing to his feet quickly, Erik mentally checked himself, bringing himself out of the depths where his thoughts were swiftly plunging. There were certain things about that time of his life he would never wish to think upon again. The shame, the humiliation hovered just beyond the fringes of his thoughts, jockeying to be let loose if he would allow it. But that child…the little girl was something he didn't recall ever thinking about before. _Was that all just my imagination? It must have been…I would have remembered it before now if it weren't. _

A steady headache began to beat enthusiastically in his left temple as he stood glaring down at the little monkey. Sighing, Erik turned and tossed the toy onto the bed dismissively, his mood rapidly declining into surliness. He stalked over to the small end table on the left side of his bed and snatched up a clock from its surface. Snarling at the time he slapped the clock back into its place. Turning, he swept out of the room, pacing up and down the hallway outside with his arms clasped firmly behind his back. _I should go to sleep. I should lie down, shut my eyes, and go to sleep._

_Maybe a little music will help._ Turning on his heel, Erik stomped moodily out into the organ room and dropped down onto the bench. Raising his hands to hover over the keys, the masked man looked up at the stone ceiling above him and knew instantly he wouldn't be able to concentrate enough to play a single note. Once again his thoughts turned sourly to the woman whose presence had forced him to stay up and root through his old memories in the first place.

Jumping to his feet once again he headed toward the shallow boat docked just a few feet away. On further thought he veered off to retrieve a cloak to ward off the chilly night air from his room. With a flourish he wrapped the hooded cape around his shoulders and headed toward the door. When he found himself pausing to look back at the gray stuffed animal half hanging off the edge of his bed, Erik silently cursed. Making the few steps to the bed in seconds he righted the toy and propped it up against one of his pillows. Feeling decidedly foolish to care about some raggedy child's toy, Erik shook his head and fled out of his room to the waiting boat. Snatching up the long pole resting on the boat's floor he smiled grimly up at the ceiling. If he couldn't sleep he sure as hell wasn't going to let HER have a pleasant night's work either. Maybe working out a little of his frustration would help clear his mind.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Aria, for the love of God, it is late. You should be sleeping. Won't you be sad when in the morning you are too tired to go and play with the other children? They even have a school here, you know. You could learn all kinds of interesting things."

Trundling along after her mother, a scrub brush clasped in both hands, Aria opened her mouth very cheerfully. "I h-hate those other g-g-girls!" she chirped. "T-They are s-stupid and only t-t-talk about their c-clothes."

Turning with a disapproving frown, Brielle fumbled with the mop and bucket in her hands. "You should not say such things. Don't you want friends?" she said, a tiny smile working its way around her frown. Aria was talking again, as if her long silence had never occurred, and Brielle couldn't be more relieved.

Ever since Christmas morning, when the mysterious music box had appeared in their room, Aria had seemed to recover bit by bit from her long bout of solemn silence. Whatever cloud the child had been living under for all those months was beginning to lift. She spoke now, even to strangers occasionally. Something about the opera, its mystery or its quiet solitude, was healing the open wounds in her daughter's spirit. Finally the child was getting over her grief for her lost masked playmate. In light of these welcome changes Brielle couldn't stay irritated at the child for long.

"Y-You are m-my friend, M-M-Momma. B-Besides those other k-k-kids say m-mean things. They t-think I d-don't understand F-French because I d-don't talk to them… B-but I understand. T-They s-say we are G-G-Gypsies…or w-witches."

Huffing in indignation, the Irish woman pursed her lips. Since her very first night here, when the oddities around the opera seemingly focused upon her, many of the other cleaning women had whispered some of the same idiotic gossip behind her back. She had assumed they would have taught their children better manners. Apparently not.

"Well then, you are right. They are stupid," she said, making a face over her shoulder. "But Momma has to do a lot more work. I will take you back to bed."

Ignoring Aria's stuttered protests Brielle turned a corner and walked swiftly into the main foyer just inside the entrance reserved for the patrons arriving by coach. Up ahead she noticed the stooped figure of an older woman struggling up the twin marble staircases with a bucket in each hand. Recognizing the woman as a fellow member of the cleaning staff by her apron and the white cloth wrapped about her hair, Brielle turned her eyes away, not wanting to draw the woman's attention. Quieting her footsteps she looked around to find another way back to the dormitories. She was not in the mood to listen to another old biddy gripe about her work or 'snobbish' manner.

Aria, picking up on her mother's caution, began to tiptoe with an exaggerated degree of concentration right on Brielle's heels. Sneaking past the staircase the pair silently made their way across the room. The Irish woman was just about to slink out a side door when the sound of a wooden bucket clapping against stone punctuated the still air. Slowly Brielle glanced over her shoulder and sighed guiltily when she saw the stooped woman leaning tiredly against the stone railing, panting for breath.

Shifting the bucket and mop in her hands Brielle turned and made her way slowly back toward the stairway. Motioning for Aria to follow her, the Irish woman started up the stairs hesitantly. None of the other women had ever offered her a word of kindness, but decency decreed she not just walk by an elder in need. Coming up alongside the white-haired lady, Brielle cleared her throat slightly. The woman turned her head and glared at Brielle with piercing beetle-black eyes.

"What do you want?" the old woman snapped in an oddly accented voice.

Sensing any offer of assistance she might give would be met with rebuttal, Brielle quickly rethought her approach. "Ehh…Well, I see you have two full buckets there…and…ehh…" Glancing down at her own half-full bucket Brielle had a flash of inspiration. "And I was wondering if I might use some of your water. You see I have nearly used all of mine."

Some of the unfriendliness slipping from her wrinkled face, the older woman straightened from the railing with a cough. "Yeah, you can use some of my water. But you have to carry it yourself." Looking Brielle up and down, the older woman took out a handkerchief and wiped her forehead, a knowing glint lighting her dark eyes. "I can't be pulling all the weight around here. Not that anyone listens to me anyway."

Overlooking the woman's crotchety attitude, Brielle bent down and picked up the very full bucket from the ground. "Oh, I don't know. I usually find myself paying attention to those who are old…er…who seem to know more than myself."

Snorting a laugh, the old woman picked up her other bucket and followed Brielle up the stairs, only then seeming to notice Aria trailing behind them. "Is that thing yours?" She asked, bluntly pointed a knotty finger toward the little girl. "Shouldn't she be sleeping?"

"I was just on my way to put her to bed. She doesn't like being left with the other children and she wanted to see what I did at work today."

Giving a good harrumph in response, the old woman raised her eyebrows at Aria. "Those brats being mean to you, eh?"

Staring wide-eyed up at the wizened woman, Aria remained silent for several moments before finally opening her mouth. "T-They c-call m-me names and c-call M-Momma a witch."

A smile slowly flickered across the old woman's face as she turned her gaze up to Brielle. "So it is you they are all talking about, eh? Funny how when people get together they always need to make a scapegoat out of someone." Panting slightly as they reached the top of the marble staircase, the older woman took out her handkerchief again and coughed into it. "Now give me back that bucket, child. I know you don't really need it."

Handing over the sudsy bucket, her expression impassive, Brielle turned her gaze to her daughter. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

As Brielle and Aria turned to leave the older woman behind they were stopped by her cracked, aged voice. "Wait a moment. Before you go, what is your name?"

"Brielle Donner…and this is my daughter Aria."

"Well, Brielle Donner, I wouldn't tell many people that you talked to me today," the old woman called.

"Why not?"

"Because until just a few days ago I was the witch of the opera. I do not think it would be in your best interests to align yourself with the wrong sort around here." The older woman replied evenly, stating the fact of her low status without blinking an eye.

Recognizing the woman's warning as a kind of 'thank you,' Brielle smiled slightly. "Thank you for the warning, but I think I will judge the wrong sort for myself. Like I said, I tend to only listen to the people who know what they are talking about. And just between us witches, I don't give a fig for what half the people here think of me." Raising her chin stubbornly, Brielle placed a hand on Aria's dark head. "If I ever need to really borrow any water from you, who should I ask for?"

A flickering of surprise over Brielle's quiet stubbornness flashed over the other woman's wrinkled face before she could move herself to answer. "Why, my name is Marie," she murmured as the Irish woman gave a nod and a wave and walked off down the corridor.

Leaving Marie behind, Brielle ushered Aria down a long stone hallway coming alongside a door leading directly to the front of the stage. Pausing outside this door, the Irish woman placed her ear against the door frame. For the past few nights, on her way back from whatever job she was assigned, she had come to expect to see Meg sneaking back to the dormitories from the stage area. Naturally Brielle was growing ever curious as to what the girl could be up to so late at night, but so far she did not have the slightest idea as to the nature of the blonde's late night activities.

Hearing nothing through the wood of the door, Brielle stepped back with a sigh. She was heading back to the dormitories earlier than usual, in order to put Aria to bed, and didn't expect to see Meg this evening. Frowning as a welling of disappointment rose in her throat, Brielle passed her bucket to her other hand. Such feelings were dangerous; they implied attachment, which was the last thing she wanted. She mistrusted such emotions and mistrusted Meg herself. What other reason could there be for a ballerina to associate with a common cleaning lady unless she wanted something?

_She most likely isn't even around. I can't hear anyone in the theater and surely it is better I do not speak so freely to anyone on a regular basis. Even if I do feel rather lonely… I will get over it. _About to turn away from the theater door, Brielle felt a slight tug on her skirts. When she looked down at her daughter she was surprised to see an impish grin slide across the child's face. Before she could ask what was so amusing, Aria took hold of the door handle and disappeared through it. Smiling to herself, she quietly followed the little girl. _I should be more aware of my expressions. She must have seen I was thinking about going back this way. _

Tiptoeing into the great expanse of the darkened auditorium, Brielle pulled up short when she spotted a light flickering onstage. Leaning forward the Irish woman took hold of Aria's shoulder before the little girl could run ahead of her, all the while her gray eyes watching the figure twirling about onstage. Meg, in her white practice dress, stood onstage in a graceful pose with one leg raised hip level from the floor. The blonde stood poised in that position for several seconds before falling into a series of flourishing steps on the very tips of her toes.

Staying quiet, Brielle watched the dancer with a great deal of interest. It had been years since she had put on dancing slippers and yet the Irish woman could still remember the way it felt to balance skillfully on the very tips of her toes. Just thinking about it made her feet ache. _How long has it been? Over ten years. No doubt I wouldn't even be able to get into first position. _

"I-Is that h-how you used t-t-to dance Momma?" Aria asked quietly, her dimples showing as she watched Meg execute several impressive leaps across the stage.

"Yes, a long time ago, before I met your father. I never performed anywhere, though. I never liked the idea of having so many people looking at me all at once. You have to be very good and very brave to dance for other people."

Nodding her head sagely, as if she knew everything there was to know about stage fright, Aria tapped the wooden handle of the scrub brush against her chin. "You are b-brave enough, M-Momma. You used t-to d-dance when Erik w-was at our old h-house."

Sucking in a sharp breath at the sound of his name Brielle felt the smile slip from her face. Once again she was surprised by the stab of old grief which twisted in her stomach at just the thought of her former friend. _This is ridiculous. Why can't I shake that blasted man. Have I done something so terrible that I deserve to be punished with these never-ending thoughts of that stupid, egotistical man?_

"Yes, I did. But we were all friends then. It is easy to do things with your friends." Uncomfortable where Aria's line of questioning was heading, Brielle quickly began walking toward the stage, waiting at the bottom of the stairs to allow her daughter to catch up. Ushering Aria before her, Brielle started up the little staircase and slowly walked out onto the stage.

She called out Meg's name before stepping into the circle of light so as not to frighten the girl. From their earlier conversations Brielle gathered that Meg was very easy to startle. _Of course that could be because she mostly believes all those ghost stories going around. I still don't understand how she can know for a fact that a year ago all the strange happenings were because of a man and still believe there are ghosts in this place._

At the sound of Brielle's voice, Meg turned with a jerk, her entire body tensing before she recognized the Irish woman. "My God, Brielle, you nearly made me faint from fright. You shouldn't sneak up on people out of the dark," the blonde breathed, placing a hand over her pounding heart. A healthy sheen of sweat popped out across Meg's forehead as she struggled to catch her breath. It was obvious she had been physically exerting herself for quite sometime.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Brielle apologized, setting her bucket and mop onto the floor. "But what in the world are you doing out here by yourself? Is this what you do every night?"

Meg's cheeks flushed bright red at the question and she immediately turned her eyes to the ground. "I like to do a little extra practicing after the other girls go to bed. It is quieter at this time."

Fisting her hands on her hips, Brielle raised her eyebrows at the younger girl. "Whatever for? You already practice enough with your mother during the day."

Raising her eyes from the floor, Meg met Brielle's gaze with an edge of determination in her look the Irish woman had never seen before. "Yes, and if I practice several extra hours I will be that much better than they are. I am determined to be one of the prima ballerinas this year, and besides people expect me to be especially talented because my mother is so well-known."

"I never even thought of it that way," Brielle replied thoughtfully. "But I suppose it is true. It must be strange to always be measured against your mother."

"Oh, it isn't just my mother. Most of my friends are gone now because they have moved onto bigger and better things. People just don't seem to notice me right away is all. I just want to make sure they have to take an extra look."

Forgetting her earlier promise to keep her distance, Brielle smiled. "You are a wonderful dancer, Meg. Anyone who overlooks you doesn't deserve to meet you in the first place!" She finished passionately, moving forward to lay a hand on Meg's shoulder. "You don't have to kill yourself with all this extra practicing."

The fierceness in Meg's gaze faded as she listened to Brielle's kind words. Slowly a bright smile broke across her face. "Yes, but then we wouldn't get to talk to each other at night," she said, laughing when Brielle stepped back out of embarrassment.

"Don't be silly. I am hardly that interesting. I am only a cleaning lady, after all. You are just afraid of the dark and need some company."

"See! That is why I like talking to you! You don't believe anything someone tells you. You think for yourself. I have always wanted to have the kind of confidence you have."

Not knowing what to say in response Brielle gave a nervous little laugh and hastily returned to her bucket and mop. Continuing to laugh at Brielle's apparent embarrassment Meg swiped at a drop of sweat trailing down her cheek. As the blonde watched the Irish woman fuss with her cleaning supplies her eyes finally fell onto Aria's small shadowy form at the edge of the circle of light.

Squealing with delight Meg rushed over to the child and squatted down in front of her. "Brielle, you rat! You never told me you had a little girl!" She exclaimed even as she began to coo over Aria. "You are so cute! You look just like your momma with those pretty gray eyes of yours!"

Initially shying from this unexpected excitement Aria clutched the scrub brush she was still holding tightly against her plain navy blue dress. Looking quickly to her mother for assurance, Aria slowly began to relax and even smiled a little at Meg. "Are you M-Momma's friend?" she asked slowly, taking extra care on the more difficult words so as to control the stutters in front of this stranger; her French surprisingly intelligible for such a small child.

Switching automatically to a form of baby talk Meg grinned at the wary child. "Oh yes, your momma protects me from the ghost every night on my way home."

An incredulous frown crossed over Aria's face as she glanced sideways at her mother. "Y-You are silly. A g-ghost can't h-hurt you," Aria snickered behind one hand as she scampered around Meg and ran behind her mother's skirts. Pulling on Brielle's apron strings the little girl cupped a hand over her mouth and whispered up to her mother. "She is f-funny j-just like Uncle C-C-Conner. D-Do you think t-they s-should get m-married? C-Cause she is y-your friend."

Shushing Aria quickly, Brielle smiled broadly over at Meg, hoping the blonde had not heard her daughter's outrageous comment. "My, my, look at the time. I should definitely get this little lady to bed," Brielle said hurriedly, covering Aria's mouth to prevent her from voicing any more of her opinions.

Covering her cheeks, aghast, Meg nodded vigorously and hurried over to snatch up Brielle's half-full bucket before the Irish woman could reach for it. "Of course, what was I thinking?" Wagging her finger playfully toward Aria, the blonde gave the child a wink. "You are far too young to be up this late. Why by the time you go to sleep it will be time to wake up again."

"Well I wouldn't go that far. My shift is only half over, so I don't think it is too terribly late yet," Brielle stated as she bent down to pick up the mop from the floor.

Mostly ignoring Brielle's reply, Meg continued on ahead, swinging the bucket back and forth haphazardly. "Brielle, you must let me introduce Aria to the other girls. They love children, but most of the other kids are snotty little brats and their mothers are grim old biddies."

Following Meg toward stage left Brielle could only shake her head silently while Aria let out a short burst of laughter. "What a terrible thing to say, Meg," Brielle muttered, though she secretly agreed.

Twirling around, gracefully keeping the bucket from spilling, Meg wrinkled her nose at Brielle. "Oh you know it is true. You wouldn't be so serious if it weren't!" she laughed.

The trio was just about to exit the stage area when a loud bang issued from the other side of the stage. All three of them jumped at the sound, both Aria and Meg screeching like banshees for several seconds before falling silent. Placing a calming hand on the top of Aria's hair, Brielle turned her head and stared into the darkness behind them. A series of continuing smaller bumps soon followed, echoing across the tall vaulted ceiling of the auditorium several moments after they stopped.

Scooting closer to Brielle's unwavering form, Meg glanced cautiously about their surroundings, unconsciously placing herself so that Aria stood between herself and her mother. "What do you think that was?" she asked tentatively, her soft cinnamon eyes large and frightened.

"Probably some set or something falling over," Brielle replied, trying to cover her unease with cool indifference. When a soft, sinister chuckle drifted to them from the other side of the stage there was no denying that the noises were not innocuous or accidental. "Or maybe not."

"M-M-Momma w-w-what is t-t-that!" Aria cried out in English, fear clogging her throat, worsening her stutter to the point she could hardly talk.

The three scrunched even closer together when a flurry of footsteps raced across the stage toward them. Meg let out a gasp when two junior chorus girls nearly ran into them. The younger girls, their faces bone white, pulled up short when they recognized Meg. With a quick, derisive glance Brielle's way, the girls quickly focused back on their older peer.

"Meg, the ghost is over there! Did you hear him? He was laughing at us when we ran! We were just minding our own business when he pushed that pile of old costumes from the second floor on top of us. Oh, Meg, don't tell your mother we were out so late. She will punish us for sure if she finds out about this! Get back to the dormitories, quick!" the younger of the two begged, reaching out to tug on the Meg's hand.

Affected by their overt displays of fear, Meg turned to Brielle, her mouth open and trembling in terror. "Brielle, we have to go!"

Quickly grabbing hold of Meg's arm, Brielle prevented the girl from bolting off down the hallway. The two chorus girls grew impatient with this delay and fled in the opposite direction of the stage, their footsteps fading into the darkness, leaving the others behind to bear the wrath of the ghost. Meg pulled helplessly against Brielle's grip for several moments before giving up, her eyes automatically turning upward.

"Do you still hear anything?" she whispered, shifting nervously from foot to foot, the soft leather of her ballet shoes whispering against the wooden floor.

Squeezing Meg's arm, Brielle gave the girl a slight shake. "Listen, Meg! There is no ghost, you said so yourself! You told me that all the trouble was caused by a man."

Beginning to hyperventilate slightly at every little noise, Meg continued to stare upward. "Brielle, we have to go!" she whimpered, the fear on her face quickly metamorphosing into terror. "That man is dead. He died last year after the fire…now he really is a ghost! Please, Brielle, come with me."

Finally releasing Meg's arm, Brielle turned and followed the girl's gaze upward into the darkness. Any misgivings revealed in her expression gave way slowly to grim determination. "Meg, if it was a man a year ago, why couldn't it be a man now? One of the stagehands could be playing a joke on everyone…" she murmured almost as if to herself as she bent down and slowly unscrewed the head of her mop from its handle.

A moment of silence passed as Meg watched Brielle straighten, the mop handle clutched like a club in one hand. "What are you going to do with that?"

"I am positively sick and tired of being scared out of my skull every time I have work to do. I do not have time to put up with this nonsense any longer."

"Wait, Brielle! You can't go around alone! Come back with me. Everything will be normal again by tomorrow."

"Meg, will you please take Aria back to the cleaning staff dormitory? I will be along in just a few minutes," Brielle replied, only a slight tremor of hesitation thickening her voice. "Aria, go with Momma's friend now."

"I d-d-don't want t-to! I w-want t-to g-go with you!" The child howled even as Meg quickly took the child's hand in hers.

"Shh… I will be right back," Brielle said, patting Aria on the head as she passed by, walking quickly back toward the very rear of the stage. "Stay there if you don't want to go to the dorm."

"Brielle, you are crazy!" Meg hissed into the darkness as Brielle waved back at her before disappearing around several side curtains. Shifting uncomfortably for several moments Meg grimaced worriedly, keeping her ears pricked for any sort of sound. Looking down at the little girl now staring up at her, the blonde tried to smile reassuringly.

"Your momma will be back in just a few moments. Don't you worry."

At Meg's words Aria's tiny face seemed to relax slightly. Though the child still appeared awfully pale, she apparently was put more at ease. As the pair stared anxiously at each other a tiny smile began to flicker across Aria's face. "Yes, I think Uncle Conner would like you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Laughing silently to himself Erik crouched on the second floor backstage just off of stage right. One hand clutching the plain wooden railing in front of him the masked man wrapped his other about his stomach, shaking with every chuckle. The gullibility of the people who lived and worked in the opera never ceased to be amusing. A simple, innocent prank always seemed to raise his spirits, and better yet his headache had vanished as well.

Though initially his intention had been to once again single Brielle out with his frightening pranks, he had been rather disappointed to discover he couldn't find the woman. She was not in the areas she was usually assigned this time of night. And in the end he concluded that it had been better he hadn't run across her. The sight of her in his current state might have made him make a disastrous mistake.

Instead, he had turned his attention to two young chorus girls who were just coming back from a late night tryst. Pushing a pile of practice costumes over the edge of the landing he had sent a shower of cloth down to cover the unsuspecting girls. Their reactions had been more entertaining than he had expected. Though nothing about the trick could have actually harmed them, which of course he would never have intended, the pair had jumped so dramatically that one of them sent a chair crashing over onto the floor, creating a booming crash; the scene, by that time, so comical that he had actually laughed aloud for a moment.

Now he watched the two girls he had startled dash across the stage, their shrieks echoing behind them. Upon reaching the far end of the stage the two girls ran into another group of late night wanderers he hadn't noticed before. The shadows of the group bustled nervously for several moments, voices rising and falling as the chorus girls relayed their shocking tale. Leaning his forehead against the railing in front of him, Erik felt some of the pent-up tensions ease out of his body. He closed his eyes and smiled. _Perhaps, I can finally go and get some sleep._

Gathering his cloak in one hand in order to get the thing out from under his feet, Erik opened his eyes and prepared to stand when a slight creak from behind caught his attention. With one quick move, out of instinct more than anything else, he pulled the cowl of his cloak up and over his head. Turning his face slightly to investigate the sound the masked man froze when a coolly familiar voice sounded menacingly from over his left shoulder.

"If you move one blessed inch I will split your skull open like an overripe melon," a distinctly Irish-accented voice hissed through the darkness.


	41. Confrontation

**Hey there everyone. Surprise I actually got you this next chapter relatively on time! Hurray! **

**I don't really have all that much to say other than to give another huge thank you to my new beta Terpsichore314. She is doing a great job so far and deserves a great big pat on the back. Hurray for her! **

**And as usual a big thanks to all of my reviewers. I love hearing from you guys! Hope everyone enjoys this next chapter. Oh and P.S. I went and saw the new Pride and Prejudice movie last weekend and I have to say it was great. So if you are a Jane Austin fan or just like a good romance you totally have to go see it. **

Chapter 41: Confrontation

"If you move one blessed inch I will split your skull open like an overripe melon," Brielle hissed into the darkness, her French wavering slightly as she struggled to control the tone of her voice.

The man squatting on the floor toppled over backward at the sound of her voice, his arms flailing out behind him in an attempt to catch himself. Startled by the sudden movement, Brielle let out a high-pitched shriek as she shuffled backward quickly to get out of the way. Catching a fold of her long skirt with her heel, the Irish woman tripped over her own clothing and went crashing to the floor, the mop handle dropping out of her grip only to clatter loudly against the floorboards a few feet away. Sitting up quickly, she watched the mystery man flounder about upon the floor barely a foot away from her, hopelessly ensnarled in his cape, before snapping out of her daze. Lunging to the side Brielle grabbed hold of her wayward weapon and used it to give her enough leverage to climb quickly to her feet.

Righting himself almost at the same time, cursing all the way, the cloaked figure turned with a jerk and quickly surveyed Brielle as she took a tiny step back from him. The deep cowl hung low over his head casting his entire face in shadow except for the very tip of his strong chin. One of the man's eyes glittered a shocking blue from under the folds of the deep black hood, as he took in her brandished weapon shaking in her sweaty hands. He did not appear in the least concerned by her not-so-threatening appearance nor did his earlier clumsiness now affect his carefully measured movements.

Without a word the dark figure stood, all the while focused intently on Brielle's face. She could feel his gaze like a fevered touch across her cheek, and could sense the danger in his eyes though she could not see his face. As the man straightened fully, Brielle felt her mouth drop open in dismay, for the dark figure she had so flippantly threatened to bash over the head was much larger than she had anticipated. Staring up into the black hood of the man's cloak, where his face must have been, Brielle searched for any recognizable features, finding nothing but shadows and those piercing, shining eyes.

Clenching her fingers more tightly about the modest mop handle in her hands, her only means of protection, the Irish woman took another hasty step back. The Devil himself could not have frightened her more at that moment than that dark faceless shadow. "I told you to remain where you were," Brielle intoned menacingly, though she felt far from the fierce thing she was portraying.

The man took a deep breath just then, almost as if he were sighing over her insolence. The whispery sound of the air issuing from that cavernous space under the hood created an altogether sinister effect. "Did I offend you in some way, Madame, that you threaten me so?" a soft, rough voice inquired politely, the gentlemanly reply completely at odds with the man's devilish appearance. His pleasantries only served to further accentuate the harshness of his tone.

Brielle opened her mouth to shoot out a reply but her words lodged in her throat, preventing her from speaking. For the briefest of moments the stranger's voice seemed strangely familiar to the Irish woman. Through the coarse, uneven quality of his tone she thought she heard a hint of something recognizable. And suddenly Brielle was inundated by wave after wave of the feeling that somehow she knew this man. All of his individual features were carefully shadowed, but she could make out his silhouette, and the proud way he held his shoulders; both of which made the bells in the back of her head begin to toll. _Do I know him? I can't know him._

Lowering the tip of her mop handle, Brielle felt her brow furrow in confusion as she tried to figure out why she should feel this odd sense of déjà vu. "What is your business at the Opera? You are not dressed like a stagehand. We do not look kindly on strangers wandering about after hours."

There was a long silence following her questions as the man turned his head and momentarily gazed off to the right. He shifted his weight slightly before turning his attention back to Brielle. "Why should I be inclined to answer the questions of a common cleaning lady?" the man shot back, the correctness of his words overshadowed by the temper in his tone.

With a dismissive gesture the mystery man turned from Brielle and took a step to the right, moving to walk off down the hallway, obviously very eager to be free of her presence. Pursing her lips, the Irish woman felt a ball of fury well up within her. She had yet to become numb to the degrading way most people chose to treat her here. Her hackles rising instinctively, Brielle took a step forward and brought her mop handle up to jab the man in the chest, impeding his exit.

"You speak too well to be a workman here, sir. But no highborn patron would set up a tryst at the Opera at this late hour. Most of them have hotel rooms to entertain their mistresses. It does not take long to learn the ins and outs of the rules of discretion around here," she stated coolly, finding herself strangely refreshed by the searing hot anger coursing through her blood. It felt good to be able to openly express her temper again.

"Why are you boring me with this useless nonsense?"

"My point, sir, is that since you do not display the normal characteristics of the local highborn society, then most likely you are just as common as I am," When the cloaked figure stepped away from her broom and attempted to beat a hasty retreat in the opposite direction, the Irish woman followed him. The man growled under his breath but Brielle held her ground in the face of this stranger's growing irritation. Hounding the dark figure with the tenacity of a bull dog she stepped directly into his path for the third time.

"I am not finished! I was going to say that since you are just as common as I am, I will have no qualms whatsoever in turning you in to the police should you continue to frighten the staff on a nightly basis! The joke is wearing thin now. You have obviously had your fun; now it is time to move on. Surely you have some job within the Opera to keep you busy enough to leave everyone else alone."

Stilling, the man lowered his head defensively, the slope of his shoulders changing as the tension within his body began to build. "I don't have the slightest idea as to what you are talking about."

"No? You haven't heard of the ghost around here? And the tricks he plays on people?"

"No."

"So then you couldn't possibly have seen someone else sneaking around in the dark in this area? Because apparently the ghost just recently dumped a pile of old costumes on top of a couple of chorus girls."

"Absolutely not."

Brielle sucked in a sharp breath, her lips quickly thinning in irritation. The anxiety she had felt only minutes before began to wear off as the stories about ghosts and strange happenings faded within her head, her fears magically melting before the growing heat of her annoyance. "So it was just a coincidence that you are standing above the exact spot where those girls were frightened?"

When her final question was answered with icy silence the Irish woman stamped her foot against the floor. "How stupid do you think I am? I know it was you, whoever you are. Now I am telling you to stop all of this foolishness immediately."

"Why? Are you afraid that you will lose your god-damned self assurance? That you might not be as brave as you like to pretend you are?"

Taking a quick step forward Brielle viciously jabbed the mystery man in the chest. "No, you ass. My four-year-old daughter was with me while I was working tonight. When you pushed that crap onto those girls you nearly scared her to death. She is hardly more than a wee babe…and I swear if this has given her nightmares I will hunt you down and castrate you for the trouble that would cause me."

A disbelieving sputter burst from under the hood and Brielle could feel those burning eyes focusing once again on her face as the man batted the mop handle away. After a moment of searching her face the man shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I didn't know you were there…let alone the fact that Ar…that a child was present."

"The lack of that knowledge is no excuse, sir. And your ignorance does not change the facts of your actions, since it seems you are actually fessing up to the crime."

"And what do you know of crime? The worst that has ever happened here is a loud noise or flickering shadow."

"Or a chandelier being dropped onto the heads of an unsuspecting crowd? What of that?" Once again silence met her question, a reaction she was coming to expect when he didn't want to answer her. "Would you like to ask me what I know of that? I know the man who pretended to be the ghost last year nearly became a mass murderer. I know that the people here still fear him enough to go into hysterics every time a candlestick falls over. What right do you have to exploit that fear? If that is not a crime then I don't know what is!"

"They say the man who did those things is dead now, so no one need fear any repeat of the happenings of last year. They were clearly the work of a madman. My actions cannot in any way be compared to…"

"It doesn't matter. You use their memories of last year to your advantage. You use their built-in fear for your own purposes!"

"And what if I tell you that I fully intend to continue to do as I please no matter what you may say."

"Then I shall have no problem going to the police and informing them of our ghost problem. I will not allow you or any man living to teach my daughter to fear in her new home." Raising a hand to cover the unexpected catch in her voice Brielle stepped back from the man. "I will not allow it." _No…my daughter will never learn to fear the retribution of a man. Not like I had to. I will make damn sure of that._

Taking several shaky breaths Brielle fought to regain her composure, not wanting to look weak in front of this stranger. She started when the man took a small step forward, almost as if he intended to touch her, but after a split second he stepped back again. As she watched warily the cloaked figure stiffened and retreated several feet further until he ran up against the railing. The foreboding Brielle had felt the first few minutes she had spoken with the stranger returned full force. Something in the air changed between them then, it thrummed with tension like an over tight violin string.

"I don't think going to the police would be in your best interest," the man whispered, a hint of a smile darkening his tone.

"What do you mean?" Brielle inquired a little too sharply.

"You came here for a reason did you not? Would you really want the police to know where you work?" He paused then and cocked his head to the side, watching her expression change slowly from disbelief to horror. "Because, you see, a young lady runs away to the opera for only two very specific reasons. Either she has done some crime and is keeping a low profile or she is running away from her husband…or father…or any other male relative you wish to name. Because if you were not hiding from something then you would be out in the world being taken care of by your family."

"I have no idea what you are talking about. I mean you don't even know me. I have never heard your voice around before," she stated, growing ever more alarmed at the information this mystery man was so casually revealing to her. It was almost like he knew more than he was letting on.

"And I would imagine your 'male relatives' would pay a great deal to know where you have been," he continued, bringing a gloved hand up to hover just shy of touching a lock of her loose hair. The white of the man's cotton shirt glowed in the darkness as his cape fell back, revealing the rest of his clothing. "Whatever have you done to your lovely hair, Madame?" he murmured softly, his strangely musical voice spinning a web of deception around her brain. _Blessed Mary, he has the voice of a siren. Gah! What in the world am I thinking? He is a low-down, dirty, scoundrel…stop thinking about his voice._

Jerking back violently from the man's hovering fingers Brielle swiped at his hand, knocking it clear from her personal space. Gasping for air like a fish out of water the Irish woman tossed the loose tresses of her wig back over her shoulder. Though the cloaked figure hadn't actually touched her, Brielle felt as if an electric shock rocked painfully through her soul from the point where his fingers had hovered.

"What do you know of my hair, sir? You are a stranger to me!" Brielle demanded, calling the man's bluff with as much gusto as she could manage. _At least I hope it was a bluff._

"It used to be white," the man smirked.

Shocked into stillness Brielle stared open-mouthed up at the mystery man; the terror rising to clamp vise-like about her throat. "How do you know that, sir?" she managed to whisper through numb, tingly lips.

"I have seen you before. I have a very good memory you see. You were here last year were you not…snooping around I believe. Donovan was your name…not Donner." There was the slightest of pauses as the man tugged fastidiously on the back of his black gloves. "Say, isn't Donovan the name of that rich foreign family? That name has been in the papers recently. Apparently Lord Donovan's young bride has disappeared. Now how much do you think that would be worth to interested parties?" Chills raced along her skin from her head to her toes as the stranger mentioned Andrew with a smile in his voice.

"You bastard how dare you threaten me with…" Brielle started, advancing on the man with fury flickering in her gray eyes, but before she could finish her insult the man raised his open hand up in a quick jerking motion to eye level, cutting off her line of thought in mid-insult.

Flinching back from the man's sudden movement, Brielle ducked her head instinctively as if she expected him to hit her. The mere mention of her former fiancé's name had had the power to change her entire demeanor, planting the seed of self-doubt back into her head. For the briefest of moments gone was the strong-willed young lady who had braved the darkness to confront a ghost, in her shoes now stood a wide-eyed terrorized girl. All too clear images of her own battered face rose to the forefront of her mind, reminding her why she had left in the first place, reminding her of the weeks of confinement and terror she had lived through before gaining her freedom. Flicking a glance upward from under her eyelashes, Brielle straightened slightly when she realized that the man hadn't intended to strike her at all. He was merely readjusting the hood of his cape.

Dropping the tip of her mop handle to the floor, Brielle used the pole to hold herself up as her knees gave out from underneath her. _Get a hold of yourself…stay calm…stay calm…_"Tell me immediately what your intentions are, sir! You smirk over dangerous things you do not completely understand." _No…nonono. This is wrong. We were just getting settled. I was so careful…so sure no one would know me! I changed my appearance…I changed my name…I took a job in a place I knew Andrew would never find me…_NO…Brielle finally understood the signals of danger flooding her mind when she had first met the stranger. It was not the threat of physical violence she was sensing, but something far worse. He knew her secret…and he would not have a problem sharing it with anyone who would care to listen.

"Why should I offer you any information when you were so ready to offer me up to the authorities?" the mystery man sneered. "It would be so easy to start the rumor…so easy to tell your beloved where to find you. Though I don't know if he would want you back now…what did you do to earn those bruises? It must have been terrible indeed. Why, you must have shared your affections with too many of the help."

Confusion stole over Brielle's features as her eyes filled unwittingly with a sheen of tears. _I have to get out of here…we will have to leave…I can find another job…I can…but we have to leave…_Without raising her gaze from the floor the Irish woman turned and fled down the hallway, dropping her mop handle in her panic. The sound of heavy footsteps immediately followed her flight, growing louder as her pursuer quickly caught up with her. Just as she thought the man was right on her heels the sound of his pounding feet stopped suddenly, leaving her with only the echoes of her own ragged breathing.

Pressing a hand to her abdomen, Brielle slowed slightly to glance back over her shoulder. Seeing no one behind her, the Irish woman fearfully came to a stop. Her eyes darting from shadow to shadow Brielle could see no movement except for the slight swaying of the web of ropes and pulleys hanging above the walkway. A sigh a relief passed through her lips as she turned her head to look forward again. Without warning a large black shadow dropped down from above, landing mere inches in front of her. Stumbling backward, Brielle let out a scream as the shadow straightened into the familiar form of her mystery man.

"I was not done," the man intoned menacingly.

"Then please, sir, tell me what you want. I have no great amount of money to bribe you into keeping your silence…but I beg you to do so all the same. If he finds us he will take my daughter from me. My life will become a ruin!"

"Then perhaps you deserve ruin," he replied coolly.

"Only God knows what each of us deserves for our crimes," Brielle murmured as a single tear broke free from her control, stealing down her right cheek.

At the sight of the tear streaking down her face the man turned his head to the side. "Stop blubbering. I have just realized it would be in my best interest to keep what I know to myself."

Sniffling slightly, Brielle looked up, surprised at this final statement. The recent events in her life had taught her not to expect kindness from others. In fact, she had come to realize that human beings, in general, were petty and selfish creatures intent on their own comforts over everything else. So it was not a surprise when her shock quickly faded into suspicion.

"What are you talking about?"

"What I know surely would be worth a small fortune…however, should I reveal your secret no doubt you will give up my late-night activities upon the first opportunity."

"Yes…yes I would you two-faced baboon!" Brielle snapped, swiping angrily at the wetness upon her face. A certain amount of relief washed over her as she slowly came to realize the full implication of what the man was implying. _It is so obvious…god he got me so worked up that I missed it! If I tell about him then he tells about me…and the other way around…_

Nodding slightly, as if not surprised at all by her continued brazenness, the cloaked figure gave an indifferent shrug. "It seems; Madame, that we are at an impasse. A truce if you will."

"I wouldn't go that far. You despicable degenerate," Brielle spat before she could think better of insulting the man who she now stood on dangerous ground with.

Bowing with a flourish of his cape, the stranger laughed aloud at her insult. "Why thank you."

"I loath the thought that I must keep silent while you are scaring the life out of people but if you insist upon continuing to live off the legend of the Phantom you must assure me you will not actually hurt anyone! No matter what you know about me I will tell everyone what is going on the minute someone gets injured."

Heaving a sigh, the man turned his head to glance quickly over his shoulder. "You certainly have a great deal of guts to continue to demand things when you have absolutely no leverage whatsoever to do so."

"That was not an answer."

"I don't have to tell you anything. I could go on a murdering spree and it would be none of your concern."

"Oh but now it is my concern. You see by knowing what you are doing I will be just as guilty in whatever crimes you may commit. I will watch for any shenanigans that go beyond the simply 'playful' as you put it." This little bit of information did not go over to well with the cloaked figure. A deep growl rolled out from under the hood, clearly indicating the man's displeasure with the idea of Brielle's interference.

"Blast you, you idiot woman…" The stranger hissed as he placed a hand on the railing behind him. Sensing an advantage, Brielle opened her mouth to continue but shut it again when the man turned his back on her.

"Hey, wait just a moment…" Brielle began, only to be cut off in the middle of her complaint when the man turned and leapt over the wooden railing and dropped to the floor below. Running to the edge of the landing the Irish woman searched the darkness below for the man's unmistakable outline. Finding nothing Brielle bashed a fist against the railing. "Hey! Don't forget I'll be watching you!" she shouted into the darkness.

Leaning forward to rest her elbows against the wooden railing Brielle let out a large breath, trying to expel some of her lingering tension. _Well it isn't as bad as I thought it would be. My cover is blown of course…but at the moment he can't use it against me. At least that is good news. Aria and I can continue to live here without worry. Just so long as I maintain the status quo._ Pursing her lips slightly, Brielle tapped a finger against her cheek. _Yes, the balance is a blessing…but God helps those who help themselves. Perhaps I can improve my position by tipping the balance further in my direction. At the moment I only know that man's voice…and what he is up to. I wouldn't be able to identify his face…but if I found out his name or what he looks like then I will have the upper hand. _

Smiling at the thought Brielle straightened, wiping her hands against the front of her apron. Humming to herself the Irish woman walked off calmly into the darkness, confident in the fact that though her secret was out she now had a plan to fix the situation in her favor. "He will regret making me worry so…I am going to make his life a living nightmare."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A week of late nights passed quickly for Brielle as she steadily worked her way around the Opera, taking any assignment given to her without complaint and volunteering for those jobs no one else on the staff wished to do. The Irish woman was settling into her new life with a fresh sense of purpose. By offering up her services with modest regularity, Brielle was purposely making herself indispensable to Madame Dubois and other members of the Opera staff. Though the other cleaning ladies still whispered about her behind her back, the Irish woman was quickly moving up the social ladder. She was determined to not remain a common cleaning lady forever.

Without odd occurrences to mark the days from each other, New Year's Eve passed without Brielle's notice. She only realized the change in year when Meg gave it a passing mention one night after practice. Time just passed differently within the Opera, days went by without even registering. Especially now since the hours spent at work represented only a small fraction of what she thought about. Now she had the mystery of the 'Opera Ghost' to figure out and 'friends' to talk to.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Brielle watched happily as Meg leapt about on stage, the late night practice only just beginning. She had long since given up on resisting the other girl's offers of friendship. Something about Meg's infectious laughter and easy demeanor was simply impossible to stand against for long. "Meg, do you know a stagehand who is around six foot three or so? Who speaks very well?" She asked, very much aware of keeping her tone bland.

Brielle had not told Meg, or anyone else for that matter, what had happened that night she went looking for the ghost. The Irish woman didn't want the blonde girl to know that another mysterious man had stepped into the notorious shoes of the Phantom. It was one thing to be nervous about a shadow when you thought it was merely a ghost; it was another thing entirely when that same shadow could possibly be a flesh and blood man.

Balancing on one foot, the other leg raised up behind her, Meg considered Brielle's question for several moments. "No, most of the men around here are short and stupid. Why? Do you have your eye on someone, Brielle?" the blonde asked with a smile.

_Drat. Then he isn't a stagehand. _Shaking her head with a laugh, Brielle waved off the suggestion. "No! Is that all you think about? Men? I have better things to do with my time," the Irish woman stated airily.

Rising up onto her toes, Meg rolled her eyes. "Oh come on…you can't tell me you don't notice all the handsome young men who are constantly trying to woo the dancers and chorus girls."

"Not at all. They all look the same to me. Not a single one stands out as something in the least bit intriguing."

"Oh I think they are all wonderful," Meg replied dreamily, her large brown eyes going soft with the thought. "Ever since I was a little girl I have dreamed of a knight in shining armor coming to marry me and take me on his adventures with him. The Opera is all right, I suppose…but I have always wanted to see distant places, and fall madly in love."

"Please, Meg, you cannot rely upon some man to fulfill your wishes especially the rich whelps that come around here. They all only have one thing on their minds and do not share a full brain between them. If you want to see the world, go and see it."

Coming to a stop, Meg looked over at Brielle, her shoulders shaking with laughter. "You do say the most shocking things sometimes Brielle. Imagine…me going off to run about on my own. My mother would die! But it would be strangely exciting."

"Absolutely! Down with men and all their vices!" Brielle said with one fist raised.

Grabbing her stomach to control the gales of laughter washing over her, Meg stumbled over and sat down next to the Irish woman. "You have to beg Madame Dubois to allow you to work in the mornings Brielle. You are far too funny for me to keep to myself. The girls already have fallen in love with Aria. They think she is just darling. So naturally they must meet you. I told them all about how you ran off into the darkness, weapon in hand, after the Ghost when he dropped those costumes on those chorus girls."

"Oh, no Meg you didn't tell them that! People will start to think I am some sort of wild woman. But I do worry about allowing Aria to follow you around all day while I sleep but she refuses to spend time with the other children. She doesn't get in the way of people, does she?"

"Oh no. I watch her carefully. And they love her! Even my mother picks her up occasionally and carries her about on her hip. And she usually hates young children."

"I am glad she has finally found something to do with her days. The other children always make fun of her…and I found out that rather than put up with them Aria was wandering alone about the Opera. I nearly had a heart attack when I heard that…this place is so easy to get lost in."

"Well, worry not, my friend! She is a pleasure to have around," Meg said, leaning over to give Brielle a playful swat.

Dodging the other girl's move Brielle found herself covering a laugh with her hand. "Oh, Meg. You are crazy to think you don't catch people's notice. I think you are one of the most interesting people in this place. Someday some poor man will come in here and you will steal his heart away."

"I thought you didn't believe in love. Didn't you just tell me the other day that you thought love was a…was a…oh how did you put it?"

"Love is a biological trick, a chemical misfire in the brain that clouds rational thought and disrupts common sense," Brielle stated matter of factly, a certain level of bitterness pinching at the corners of her mouth. "Why else do you think women would put up with men? But for you I will make an exception in my beliefs. If anyone will find romance I think you will."

"That is sweet of you to say but I predict we will both live happily ever after!" Meg cried enthusiastically as she climbed to her feet and glided across the stage.

"If you say so," Brielle replied with a smile, feeling oddly at peace despite the turmoil of recent events. _Happily ever after? Maybe that isn't as farfetched as it might have once seemed. I will keep working hard and eventually will make my way up from where I am. I will make my own way. But first I have to find out who that man was. If I have to talk to every man that works here I will find him. And once I hear his voice I will be on my way. _

_Things are definitely looking up. _


	42. The Man Behind the Phantom

**Here you go everyone! Hope you are all happy with this chapter. I know you have all been waiting patiently for Brielle and Erik to interact more…so here you are! **

**By the way my editor Terpsichore314 is fantastic! She got me this chapter back on the same day I sent it! So hurray for her because she is great! Thanks again my wonderful hard working Beta!**

**One quick note, which does not apply to anyone who has ever reviewed the story. I was extremely disappointed at the small number of reviews for the last chapter. I don't expect everyone to review every chapter or anything but it would be nice for all the people who have never reviewed, and I know how many of you there are, to throw me a line once in awhile. I take everyone's suggestions seriously and it is a little disheartening when not that many people bother to even write a single sentence saying what they think. It is sort of like talking to an empty room. **

**But anyway, getting away from that. I would like to thank all of those people who have reviewed my story, even if it was only one time. It really does make writing the next chapter easier when I hear what you all think. So thanks.**

Chapter 42: The Man Behind the Phantom

The winter wind blew savage and cold over the roof panels of the Opera Populaire, slicing across Erik's exposed cheeks like a thousand tiny knives as it whistled off into the distance. Blinking against the wetness involuntarily gathering in his stinging eyes, the masked man hunched his shoulders. So preoccupied was he with the icy depths of his own thoughts, Erik hardly even registered the numbing air and gathering pain except for when the wind blew the folds of his cape open.

Since the night Brielle and he had come face-to-face, the masked man could think of nothing else. The scene of those few short minutes played over and over within his head in an endless looping production, as he analyzed and critiqued every word and gesture. It had not taken him long to become heatedly embarrassed over his own actions. The situation had given him the opportunity to voice all of his grievances against her, to openly berate the damned woman and finally be free of the sympathy he felt for her. And yet, he had allowed that moment to slip through his fingers.

Instead of facing her like a man, he had flipped the cowl of his cloak over the top of his head and altered the pitch of his voice so it would have been impossible for her to recognize him in the shadows. At first Erik considered these reactions disgustingly cowardly, but looking back now he realized that perhaps it was for the better. At the moment he had heard her voice call out behind him a shiver of fear had streaked through his abdomen, making him nearly physically ill, making him forget any acts of bravery he might have done. And so, to escape the curls of anxiety blooming within him, he had wrapped himself in the protective and familiar mantle of the Phantom, drawing comfort and confidence from the mystique of the character he had created so long ago. It was only because he had pretended to be someone other than himself that he was able to speak to her like he had, in a semi-calm manner, he knew that now. _Yes, it is far better this way. It is less dangerous this way. _

Shaking his head slightly, Erik closed his eyes against the biting wind, finally feeling the arctic blasts as he came out of his brooding thoughts. With slow movements he brushed the light dusting of snow off his shoulders and stood. Rubbing life back into his numbed legs he allowed his gaze to sweep over the gray city below him. Annoyed at the sight of so many people scurrying about upon the ground, Erik stopped massaging his stiff limbs and took a step forward to lean over the edge of the roof, his eyes narrowing as he watched the men and women going about their daily lives. _I should have known better than to come up here. It always puts me in a bad mood. Seeing the city moving about below…they don't even know how lucky they are._

His mood quickly taking a downward spiral once again, Erik leaned down further, resting his elbows on the frosted stone ledge. As the bitter wind picked at his neatly combed hair, he ran a gloved finger along the outer curve of his mask, his thoughts backtracking to brood over Brielle's presence at the Opera for the hundredth time that day. _Of course that blasted woman can't leave well enough alone. She has been asking too many questions. I can't go anywhere without her snooping around. She is worse than a damned bloodhound…_

"But what the hell am I supposed to do about her? She does have just enough leverage on me to make sure I stop irritating her," he said aloud, his lips thinning in annoyance. Growling, Erik smashed a fist against the cold stone. "I shouldn't have let her sneak up on me. What a stupid mistake. But then again I seem to have been infected by stupidity…lately almost every other thing I do smacks of idiocy. After all, what is wrong with me that when I had the chance to make her squirm I backed off…even felt bad for her? Something about her expression at that moment shattered my resolve. Blast her! It was almost as if she expected me to strike her."

Furious with himself for every treacherous ounce of sympathy he felt, Erik began to worry his bottom lip between his teeth. Shifting his weight slightly, he frowned when he felt something bite into his ribcage. Pulling away from the stone ledge, he glared down at one of his vest pockets in irritation. In one quick movement he dug his fingers into the offending pocket, hooking a long silver chain on the tip of his index finger. _What in the world?_ Curious now as to the identity of the object, Erik gave the chain a smart jerk, surprised dismay darkening his features as he recognized the emblem dangling before his eyes.

The image of Saint Jude winked at him as the pressed silver disk rotated with the wind a few inches in front of his eyes. He had found the gift Brielle had given him on the day of his mock birthday. The barest hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth as he remembered the moment she had handed it to him. _She told me she thought it appropriate, seeing as Saint Jude is the patron saint of lost causes…She laughed when she told me that…teasing me…God, how I loved the way her eyes lit up whenever she laughed. _

"I was sure I had misplaced this," he said with a touch of confused wonder. "Strange I don't remember feeling it in my pocket before now. Surely I have worn this vest since then…but…" Trailing off, Erik's expression immediately began to darken. _Stop being foolish…these memories are false…you KNOW that._

Gathering the chain into his palm, Erik slowly brought his fingers closed over the benevolent face of the saint, crushing the necklace in a fist. As the leather of his glove creaked from the sudden tension, something occurred to the masked man. _I should have known better. Allowing a stranger to share the birthday of your daughter…ha…I was a fool not to question her motives then. But I have learned my lesson, as I always do._

Pulling his fist back, Erik moved to fling the symbol of his disillusionment over the edge of the Opera, but at the last moment something stayed his hand. Trembling with the effort to purge himself of the necklace, he stood frozen in mid-action. But the harder Erik fought, the more difficult any sort of movement became. Memories flickered unrelenting across his mind. Closing his eyes, Erik recalled images of Brielle's flushed and smiling face as she had taught him to dance all those months ago, and of Aria's shy, beguiling eyes grinning at him despite his obvious oddities. Even a flash of Conner's easy acceptance and good humor rose up from the depths of his memory. As he pushed the memories back into the vaults of his mind, Erik slowly lowered his fist to his side. He knew then that he would not be able to throw the medallion away nor his memories as easily as he had thought he could. And his fight to do so had just begun.

Sighing heavily, Erik straightened and stalked away from the edge of the roof only to turn and pace back. Feeling restless, he rubbed his hands together nervously. "Brielle is smart…too damned smart to not eventually figure out my habits…the ways I travel about the Opera. When that happens she will make even more of a nuisance of herself." Kicking the base of a statue, he grimaced as a flash of pain shot up his already half-frozen foot. Cursing fluently in several languages, Erik hopped haphazardly across the flat expanse of the roof.

"Blast and damnation! Keep your temper under control. Everything is fine." Dropping his foot gingerly to the ground, Erik carefully eased his weight onto the throbbing appendage and headed toward the door back into the Opera. "I have never met another person in the world who can match me when it comes to illusion and deceit. No one has ever fully discovered all of the Phantom's secrets, and in this place I am most definitely the Phantom. I don't know why I am having so much trouble fitting back into my old ways. After all, I was the Phantom for over twenty years…I was only Erik after Brielle dragged me to her house."

Wrenching open the roof door with a loud bang, Erik strode into the building, the warm air billowing up from the floors below bathing his skin, sensation finally returning to his face. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his scattered thoughts and closed the door behind him. "From now on I am determined to treat that woman with all the indifference of a stranger. It will be easy as long as I remember all the things she has done. I will not allow myself to be tricked by her pretty face again. It will be easy…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The door to Brielle's dormitory slowly creaked open midway through the morning. All of the room's occupants slept on soundly, a few snores punctuating the stillness, as a pair of dainty feet quietly glided to where the Irish woman was sleeping. Squatting down next to the bed, the petite blonde reached out a hand and gave Brielle a gentle shake.

Starting up in bed as if she had been slapped across the face, Brielle let out a loud gasp before recognizing the person kneeling at her bedside. "Meg! By the saints, you nearly gave me heart palpitations. What in the world are you doing sneaking around in here?"

With an apologetic smile, Miss Giry turned and opened a trunk at the end of Brielle's bed. "I am sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to." Rummaging through the small box of the Irish woman's clothes and personal possessions, Meg pulled out the best dress she could find, a simple dark blue affair with the tiniest bit of lace at the throat and wrists. Looking up to see the blank questioning expression on her friend's face, she quickly stood. "I am terribly sorry to wake you, Brielle. I know how late you were working last night, but there has been a commotion onstage and Madame Dubois told me to get you specifically."

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Brielle sat up, trying to make out what the other girl was trying to say. "What are you talking about? What time is it?" Turning her eyes to the bed beside her Brielle frowned when she realized it was empty. "Do you happen to know where Aria ran off too?

Pulling the covers off her friend, Meg put a finger to her lips. "Shh. We don't want to wake anyone else. But yes I do know where Aria is. I took her to the school room earlier this morning. She had said she wanted to go and see it even though she is too young for the classes right now. But come on you have to hurry!"

Rolling her eyes and standing, Brielle snatched the dress out of Meg's hands, more than just a little annoyed at being woken up. "Why in the world did Madame Dubois say to wake me? That woman is beginning to drive me crazy!"

Turning back to the trunk, Meg pulled out a clean set of undergarments and tossed them to Brielle. "I know, I know. I feel terrible. But she said that several important people have arrived today and you seem to know how to conduct yourself in a discreet enough manner to be about while they are around. So I suppose that is why she wanted you to come."

Subtly Brielle adjusted the angle of her wig when Meg turned her head, trying to ignore the terrible itching of the blasted thing. Once again wishing that she and her daughter had a room to themselves, she quietly walked to the back of the room and pulled out a changing screen from where it rested against the wall. Stepping behind the screen, she pulled her nightdress over her head and slipped on the thin cotton chemise Meg tossed over to her.

Giving in to the temptation, Brielle reached up and snatched the dozens of pins holding her wig firmly to her head. Pulling the black headpiece from her real hair the Irish woman undid the tight swirl of the white braid crowning the top of her head. With a quick shake she let her hair fall down her back, rubbing her fingers along her scalp to ease the tingling and itching wearing her disguise nearly twenty four hours a day caused. Knowing this small reprieve couldn't last long, Brielle quickly rewound her hair, sticking the pins she had clamped in her mouth into the braid to keep it in place as she slipped the wig back on. Removing the remaining pins to secure the wig, she winced slightly when one stabbed a little too deeply. Before she could move to fix the offending pin, Meg strolled around the edge of the privacy screen, stockings and a pair of shoes in her hands.

"Do you want me to do up your laces in the back for you?" Meg asked, not noticing how quickly Brielle lowered her hands from her hair. "I can re-braid your hair if you want."

Bending to pick up the corset, which had fallen on the ground, Brielle vaguely waved in Meg's direction. "I pre-lace my corset so I only have to do it up the front. It is quicker that way, and it allows me to control how tight I make it. Scrubbing floors doesn't go well with tight laces and a tiny waist," she said with a crooked smile as she wrapped the undergarment around her waist and quickly did the hooks up the front. Reaching up, she pulled the dress from where it hung over the screen and tossed it over her head.

Meg moved forward without a word and started working at the buttons up the back. Starting slightly at the efficient movement climbing up her spine, Brielle waited for the uncomfortable clenching in her stomach which normally came with awkward situations. But the feeling didn't come. Surprisingly enough, she found herself feeling perfectly comfortable with her new friend helping her dress. Turning her head to look over her shoulder at the young girl, Brielle felt the beginnings of a grin twitching at her lips. _Even growing up I don't think I had a friend whom I would have allowed to help me with anything so personal. I suppose my natural reserve often prevented me from forming such friendships. It was never easy for me to meet new people…it still isn't. But somehow, despite all that, I have managed to secure a friend in just a few weeks whom I feel closer to than any other woman in my whole life. It is strange how things work out._

"Who are these important people you mentioned before?" she asked as Meg finished the last button.

"The managers are showing a few potential patrons around the Opera today. They have been having a great deal of trouble securing proper funding because of what happened last year. Many people were frightened off, I suppose. So it is extremely important that today goes well."

Hopping on one foot, Brielle pulled on one scuffed black boot and then the other, tying each quickly. "Well, what sort of commotion was there that forced Madame Dubois to send for someone to clean it up? Usually they don't want us around when anyone important could see us."

Wrinkling her nose in an uncharacteristically sour expression, Meg stepped back and led the way to the door of the dormitory. "In order to attract some very wealthy investors, the managers have hired a few famous artists. It took them nearly six months to do so. The story of what happened a year ago has spread all over the continent. Not very many were willing to come and work here."

"You still haven't explained what the commotion was about."

Quietly closing the door behind them, Meg's irritated expression only deepened. "The new prima ballerina and the lead soprano got into an argument. Several of the flower arrangements which the managers had given them were thrown. Along with the vases they were in."

A snort of laughter burst out of Brielle as she imagined what two puffed-up peacocks fighting would have looked like. "On their first day of work they got into a fight? Over what?"

Shooting Brielle a disapproving look as the Irish woman continued to laugh, Meg waited for her friend to retrieve a broom and dust pan from the supply closet. "I believe it had something to do with what dressing rooms they wanted. Maryann, she is the new prima ballerina, said she wanted the room next to the one with the big mirror but Carlotta said she wanted the same one. Our Prima Donna stated that she had to have that specific room in order to house her entourage, which has yet to show up."

Pausing in what she was doing, Brielle glanced up at Meg. "Did you say Carlotta? Wasn't she the lead soprano last year?"

"Yes she was. Actually for a long time she refused to come back and finish her contract. But in the end I don't think any other theater offered her a job, so she had to come back. Even though she is a royal pain in the behind I do feel a little sorry for her…last year her…well I suppose you would say…her lover was killed in the fire, he was the lead tenor." Looking over her shoulder at Brielle then, Meg slowed her pace. "How did you know she was here last year?"

Flushing over her mistake Brielle dropped her eyes to the floor and hurried past the dancer. "Well the cleaning staff is known for being a hotbed of gossip. I merely recognized the name from stories the others told."

Accepting this explanation without question, Meg hurried to catch up with the Irish woman. "One thing I have to tell you before we get to the stage is that when I left Carlotta and Maryann were still screaming at each other. So if I were you I would keep my head down and get out as soon as possible. Hopefully they haven't made any more of a mess."

"Don't worry, they won't even notice me," Brielle reassured her as a high-pitched screech broke through her words. Wincing at the sound, the Irish woman hurried forward, not liking the increasing commotion issuing from up ahead.

Bursting onto the scene, Brielle stumbled to a halt at the outer edge of a small crowd. Rising up onto the balls of her feet, she tried to see over the shoulders of the stagehands standing in front of her. It was obvious the leading ladies had not completed their argument. Curious to see the two artists clawing at each other, Brielle stepped to the side and ran right into Madame Dubois.

Taking hold of Brielle's arm in a firm grip, the older woman squinted up into her face, her eagle eyes studying her for a moment before tugging her off to the side. "Where have you been, girl? We have been waiting all this time and here I find you loitering around."

Biting down hard to keep her sharp retort to herself, Brielle waved farewell to Meg as she was dragged off around the outer edge of the crowd. On the other side of the gathering the crowd appeared slightly thinner. Brielle cast a glance over her shoulder toward the area where everyone else was looking and caught a glimpse of an imperialistic, dark-haired woman snarling down at a petite redhead. The first of the enraged pair stood a good foot taller than her opponent, a bright, almost garish hat teetering atop her ebony curls as she flung her hands out furiously, her heavily accented voice rising in unintelligible gibberish somewhere between two languages. The smaller woman was much younger than the first, perhaps twenty-two to the other's thirty something, but despite her smaller frame and her youth the girl brazenly stabbed a finger at the dark-haired woman's chest, laughing when the other woman's face turned bright red in anger. The scene, for some reason, struck the Irish woman as particularly funny. She would have laughed if Madame Dubois hadn't let go of her arm at that moment, throwing off her balance enough to make her stumble.

"Now make yourself useful and sweep up this whole mess," Madame Dubois stated; her wrinkled face pinching up as she glared down at a scattered pile of broken glass. "Blasted high-minded wenches wrecking all of the nice polish on the stage," she continued to grumble as she strode off to wade through the melee surrounding the fighting divas, leaving Brielle to sweep up the broken vases.

Shaking her head at the silliness of the whole situation, Brielle placed her dustpan onto the floor, sweeping up the broken shards in quick, efficient movements. Placing her foot on the back edge of the pan to hold it in place, she ushered her little piles of glass onto it and bent down to pick the pan up. Gathering a fistful of her skirts in her hand, Brielle made to get up when the air froze within her lungs, mid-breath.

Her gray eyes widening in shock, Brielle dropped the dustpan onto the floor with a clatter. An all-too-familiar panic set in, the warning bells in the back of her mind clanging into life. The pent-up breath caught in her throat finally burst from her slack lips just as her vision began to blur. _Something is wrong…something… _Shaking her head to clear it of the ringing, and the remaining fuzziness, Brielle glanced up toward the rafters, her eyes following where her instinct directed.

Finding her eyes drawn to a particular group of sandbags hanging over the collected group of onlookers, Brielle stared blurrily at the largest bag of the three. For a moment her vision doubled, laying one reality over another, multiplying the rafters and sandbags into what she could see with her eyes and what was shown to her in her mind. While the first set remained stationary, one bag in the second trembled and then plunged downward at an alarming speed. As she followed the phantom bag down with her eyes she saw it smash into the very middle of the gathered group right atop the head of the screaming dark-haired woman. Blinking her eyes rapidly, the disturbing image vanished from her sight, leaving her staring horrified up at nothing.

Recognizing the short-lived wave of unexplained terror as far more than just anxiety, Brielle drew her eyebrows down into a frown. Slowly the tightness in her chest and the sick rolling in her stomach faded as she regained her composure, anger plucking at her heartstrings now, rather than fear. Gaining her feet, her broom and dustpan were forgotten on the floor as she took several steps forward, her eyes glued to the dimness looming over her head. _There is only one person in this theater that I know of who could possibly pose any sort of threat. I am going to tan his hide when I finally figure out who he is… I told him that if anyone should get hurt…_

Ignoring the argument still screaming off to her left, Brielle continued to stare upwards until finally she caught the flicker of a shadow out of the corner of one eye. Squinting at the movement, she watched as a sandbag high over the gathered crowd twitched, then began to swing. Gasping out loud when the bag took a two-foot plunge before jerking to a stop, Brielle lunged forward, plunging into the crowd of onlookers.

Instantly feeling the claustrophobic pressure of other people's bodies pressing around her, Brielle jabbed her elbow into the ribs of the men on either side of her, leaving a trail of shouted oaths in her wake. Bursting into the inner circle where the two women continued to screech at each other, the Irish woman hurried up to the two of them without preamble.

"Madame? Signora? Please may I ask you to step just a little to your right?" she asked hurriedly, tilting her head upward the whole time to watch the bags above their heads.

Shocked by the impertinence of the interruption, the younger woman turned and gaped at Brielle, a strand of her long flaming hair falling from its pins and sticking to the slight sheen of sweat across her cheek as she took a surprised step back. The other, taller woman, whom Brielle was coming to suspect was the returning soprano, only stayed silent for a single moment before turning her ire on the Irish woman.

"Eh! And 'ho are you? How dare you…eh…dare you a speak to us! Do you a know 'ho I am? I am the leading lady 'ere, you do not a speak to me! Get away now!" the older woman demanded in broken French, the Italian in her accent making her words almost unrecognizable. Waving both hands rudely in Brielle's face, Carlotta's dark eyes glittered furiously within her carefully made-up face.

Irritated by the woman's snobbery, Brielle brought her eyes down from the rafters to fix upon Carlotta's face. The Italian woman blinked over Brielle's audacity, obviously not used to having an inferior meeting her gaze. "No, Signora, you do not understand, I was only trying to warn you that the sand bags are…"

Before Brielle could finish Carlotta glanced up angrily and then laughed. "There is a nothing wrong 'ith them." Turning away from Brielle, the singer searched the crowd for a moment. "Madame Dubois? Fire this woman right away! Hey! Did you hear what I…"

Just then a screech from above interrupted Carlotta's tirade. Everyone on the stage looked up at the same time just in time to see a ten pound sandbag plummeting toward the stage. Staring in shocked disbelief, the singer stood paralyzed where she was, the bag aimed directly at her head. With only a second to act, Brielle lunged forward and tackled the older woman to the floor, the impact of the fallen sandbag shaking the floor inches from both of their faces. Lying still for a moment, Brielle took several calming breaths, trying to get her heart to stop pounding within her chest. _That was close…_

Sitting up carefully, Brielle glanced over at Carlotta only to see the woman staring horrified at the plump brown bag right in front of her face. Slowly the older woman brought her liquid brown eyes to the Irish woman. "How did you know? You saved my life…" she murmured quietly, her lips trembling slightly.

As Brielle opened her mouth to reply two middle-aged men rushed forward and gently pulled Carlotta to her feet, fussing over the diva as if she were made of glass, leaving Brielle to sit on the floor. _Glad to know chivalry is not dead,_ she thought sarcastically. Getting to her feet without help, Brielle straightened her skirts in irritation. _Why thank you Brielle…how nice of you for saving our diva…_

The Irish woman sighed and glanced up to watch the two men continue to fawn all over Carlotta, the singer remaining uncharacteristically silent in the face of their crooning. Turning her head quickly away from the two men, Brielle cursed silently when she recognized one of them as Andre the theater manager. It had been a year since she had met with the man but she could not risk him recognizing her despite her dark hair.

Carlotta, looking as if she might faint, turned dazed eyes to watch Brielle as the Irish woman slowly slipped back into the crowd. With everyone's attention focused upon the stars of the show, since Maryann was now screaming hysterically, Brielle didn't find it difficult to slip off of the stage and into the backstage area. Her face set in hard, furious lines. _I told him not to try and hurt anyone… I TOLD him…_

Forgetting the danger she had just exposed herself to, Brielle marched up several flights of stairs, heading toward the upper reaches of the backstage, determined to catch the mystery man fleeing the scene. Slowing her pace as she reached the correct floor, the Irish woman slunk along, changing her movements to careful creeping steps. Only then, when she was alone, did she realize that she hadn't even thought to bring a weapon with her. Cursing herself for a fool, Brielle bit her bottom lip and considered going back downstairs. She had not gotten to the exact spot where she suspected the criminal must have been and she knew that if she left now she might not find him for another few weeks, if at all.

Still hesitating as to what she should do, Brielle froze when she heard a soft pattering sound. Focusing on the sound she grimaced when she realized the sounds were a series of extremely quiet footsteps walking casually on the landing just around the corner where she stood. Narrowing her eyes she tilted her head to the side, trying to pick up more of the noise. _Well he is sure casual about this whole thing, if it is him. Why is he moving so slowly? He should be running away…_

Tensing as the footsteps drew closer to her hiding spot, Brielle felt her stomach do some rather unsettling flip flops within her. Even without seeing the man, somehow she knew it was the same person she had confronted the week before. Black, rolling fury washed through her body at the realization. _He could have killed someone! The maniac could have actually killed someone!_

Forgetting all rational thought, Brielle stepped around the corner and right into the path of her tall dark stranger. Her body tensed, and spoiling for a fight, the Irish woman grimly watched the man jump at the sight of her, immediately pulling his hood further down his face. Though his efforts at concealing his identity were quick, the daylight streaming in several windows down the hall provided enough light for her to make out the strong line of his lower jaw, and his shapely, full mouth. Before she could stop herself Brielle's eyes fell to those sinful lips as they tightened in irritation. For a split second her mind blanked, and the same deep visceral sense that she knew this man returned. With a start she jerked her gaze away and focused instead upon where the man held the hood down over his eyes.

As they stood there in tensed silence, Brielle gathered her scattered fury around her like suit of armor, protecting herself from the odd thoughts and feelings slithering within her mind and body his proximity caused. Finally the man moved slightly, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Tilting his head downward the man cleared his throat. "Sneaking around the upper stories again?" he asked in the deep gravelly voice Brielle had come to expect. "I would think you should stop doing that."

Shocked by how casually the man spoke when he had just committed a crime, Brielle took a threatening step forward, practically bristling with outrage. "Y-You villain!" she burst out, fisting her hands at her sides. "How dare you stroll around up here like you own the place after what you just did!"

Taken aback by Brielle's outburst the man's mouth fell open in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Do not playact, sir. We both know that you are the devil himself! How could you have done it? Someone could have died!"

"What are you talking about? You are not making any sense," the man stated, a hint of confusion haunting his tone.

Sputtering over his calm answer, Brielle waved her hands about wildly. "Stop it! Stop lying! I know it is you who makes all the trouble around here. Why did you think I wouldn't know it was you who dropped those bags on Carlotta?"

Making a small noise of bewilderment the man tilted his head to the side. "Carlotta is back?" he asked quietly, a touch of what sounded like regret entering his rough voice. "But wait a moment…did you say someone dropped something on Carlotta?"

"Yes! The sandbags you beast! You dropped the sandbag! It was a ten pound bag and it could have killed her!"

Straightening his shoulders, the man's mouth turned down at the corners. "You are accusing me of almost killing someone? What makes you think that I had anything to do with this situation?"

"Are you serious?" she asked, stunned. "I caught you red-handed last week dropping things on the heads of two chorus girls! That is a pattern!"

Anger now colored the man's skin in the visible part of his face as he pulled his lips back from his perfect white teeth in a sneer. "Brava, Madame. Of course it must have been me since I am the only dishonest man in this place."

Feeling the bite of his words like a knife in the chest, Brielle flushed bright red, every muscle in her body trembling with the wish to slap the man across the face. How was it that in the two times they had spoken he had found every avenue in which to make her feel the fool? "Do not try backtracking sir. You know very well you are the only man in the theater who hides his face and sneaks about playing tricks on people!"

Pursing his lips the man stared at her a moment from underneath the protection of his hood before turning and striding down the walkway away from her. "Goodbye Madame. I no longer have any time to spend listening to you rave like a lunatic," he waved dismissively over his shoulder as he stalked off.

Not willing to allow the crook off so easily, Brielle chased after him. "I told you that if anyone should get hurt I would tell the authorities!"

"Tell them if you wish for they will not find me," he said confidently, continuing to ignore her as he walked off.

"Stop! You cannot treat this with such a flippant attitude! I will send you to jail in a heartbeat." Frustrated that the man didn't even look over his shoulder at her threats Brielle ground her teeth and reach out a hand to grab hold of his shoulder. A shock of electricity shot up her arm the moment her fingers brushed the black fabric of his cloak, creating a strange, not altogether unpleasant, tingling to spread throughout her body.

Whirling under her hand the man staggered violently away from her touch. Backing up quickly he stood stiffly, as if afraid she would attack him. A little surprised by the extremity of his reaction Brielle could only stare at him, looking away only when she noticed something drop to the ground between them. _His pocket must have ripped… _Her eyes dropping to the sparkle of silver on the ground, Brielle frowned when she noticed it was some sort of medallion.

Bending automatically to pick the necklace up, Brielle flinched when the man lunged forward likewise reaching for the silver bauble. Snatching the medallion out from under his hand the Irish woman pressed it against her chest, her other hand flashing out to hit the man in the chest, effectively knocking him off balance so that he fell over onto the floor. Triumphant, Brielle opened the hand with the necklace and stared down at an all-too-familiar version of a religious medal. Dumbfounded she sucked in a breath and looked closer at the Saint Jude medallion resting in her palm.

A terrible wash of thinly veiled grief surged up, catching her breath in her throat for one agonizing moment. "Where did you get this?" she demanded faintly, a tremor starting to shiver up her spine, spreading to her entire body. Terror flickered in the very depths of her soul. _I know this necklace… I gave it to Erik last year… Has something happened to him? Oh my god… what if this man did something to him and took the Saint Jude? _Unable to move, a loud buzzing growing in the back of her head, the Irish woman felt her eyes prick with tears. Turning her stunned gaze to the floor where the man was struggling to right himself Brielle felt all of the blood leave her face.

"What did you do to him?" When the man didn't move, going completely still on the floor, something snapped within her. Brielle reached forward and brought her open palm up under his hood, slapping him upside the chin, effectively knocking the cowl from his head. "TELL ME, YOU MONSTER! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?" she screamed at the top of her lungs, fearing all the while what he would say.

With one quick movement, as if he didn't realize he had lost his disguise, the man turned and snarled at her, anger etching lines into his handsome, half-masked face. "I didn't do anything, you blasted wretch!" he bellowed. Opening his mouth to say more he hesitated when he saw the look on Brielle's face.

She gazed blankly at the man, her eyes moving over his features in one slow disbelieving circuit. Though half his face remained covered it was obvious he had a darkly handsome visage with a strong jaw line and electric blue eyes. Her face pale as old bone Brielle remained paralyzed in her half kneeling position as shadows of deep, soul biting, pain darkened her eyes. Finally Brielle stirred when the man began to frown at her. Closing her hand around the cool silver medallion Brielle opened her mouth, a clawing numbness ripping up her insides.

"Erik?" she breathed shakily.


	43. A Fated Meeting

**Hey everyone! Here is the next chapter for you! I know that last cliffhanger has been driving you crazy. But be prepared for some stupidity on all sides in this chapter…though you don't have to worry…it won't last forever. **

**Another huge thanks to my wonderful beta, Terpsichore314. She once again got this chapter back in the blink of an eye. That and she has also been helping me out lots with her comments on each chapter so hurray for her!**

**Oh and p.s. thanks to all of you who reviewed last week. I guess my complaining paid off. But seriously I do appreciate all of your comments. Keep them coming! **

Chapter 43: A Fated Meeting

The open-palmed blow across his chin caught Erik off guard. Brielle's small, fine-boned hand knocked him at an odd angle, snapping his teeth together and rattling his brain a bit. Stunned by the force of the impact he gasped aloud, biting his tongue in the process. Blinking away the spots floating in front of his eyes, Erik opened his mouth and jerked into a half sitting position, leaning heavily on his elbows.

On the verge of spewing the caustic venom gathering within his head, Erik hesitated when he caught sight of Brielle's expression. Something had changed behind her features in the few seconds since she had hit him. The anger and fear which had been tightening the skin around her eyes and mouth had mysteriously vanished, replaced instead with slack-jawed disbelief. Shifting uncomfortably, his mind racing to discover the cause of this sudden transformation, Erik could only stare back at her for several agonizing minutes.

As he watched her fog gray eyes darken in what could only be described as unhealed grief, the masked man fought against the sadness still clawing within his own heart. He knew he shouldn't still feel this way, he knew that the anger should have been able to burn away all other emotions; but it hadn't, and he didn't know why. When he hesitated to say anything all remaining color drained out of Brielle's face, her large bruised eyes staring directly into his face.

Brielle opened her mouth at the precise moment that Erik realized that his identity was no longer protected by his hood. "Erik?" she breathed, the slightest of questions hanging at the end of that one word.

At the sound of his own name filling the silence in that painfully familiar tone, Erik jerked backward, the instincts to run overriding all else within his head. A lead-like weight began to pull at his insides, making him sick with a type of shame he had not felt since he was very young. Though his mask remained firmly in place, Brielle's discovery of his identity was more piercing than all those times at the fair when strangers had gazed upon his cursed features. Flipping over onto his hands and knees the masked man scrabbled to gain his footing, panic searing only one thought into his mind. _I cannot let her see me!_

Jumping to his feet, Erik took a hurried step forward, fully intending upon running away like a coward, when a slight pull on his cloak stopped him in his tracks. Haltingly he turned his head and looked down to see Brielle lying stretched out on the floor, both hands clutching at the hem of his cloak. An animalistic desperation painted shadows on her face as she cast her lamp-like eyes up the length of his body to finally land upon his face.

It was that odd desolation in her expression that stopped him from any further action. The tiniest of smiles tugged at the corners of her lips and a light that had not been there before flickered behind her eyes. "What!" he snapped stupidly, at a loss for what else to say, the guilt continuing to grow within his gut until he was sure he would explode. What little flicker of happiness there was in her eyes immediately snuffed itself out.

At his harsh tone, Brielle released the corner of his cloak, looking as if he had reached out and slapped her across the face. "What do you mean 'what'?" she started, a little bit of the haunted darkness leaving her gaze. When Erik found he could not reply, Brielle's kohl darkened eyebrows drew down in a severe line, her full heart-shaped mouth pinching into a frown. Climbing to her feet, the Irish woman stood a cautious distance away from him.

"How long have you been here?" she asked quietly, her words carefully clipped, minimizing the normally charming lilt in her accent.

Unable to do anything else, Erik drew himself up to his full height, turning a cool haughty gaze down to Brielle's face; protecting himself with an air of superiority from her piercing gaze. "I do not see how that is any of your concern, Madame."

"None of my concern?" she repeated dumbly, staring at him suddenly as if he were a stranger. "What are you talking about? After you left I heard nothing of where you went. For all I knew you had died…"

"Yes, that is exactly how I intended it," he replied coolly.

Dropping her gaze to the image of the saint still grasped in her hand Brielle shook her head slightly, a dark flush beginning to stain her cheeks a heated scarlet. "Are you not listening! I said I thought you were dead. I knew that you were angry about something when you left, but I was sure eventually you would write at least to say how you were getting along. When I heard nothing…well what was I to think? I waited months for just a word from you." Clenching her fist around the medallion once again, Brielle looked up again. "Why didn't you write?" she asked, bitterness now deepening her tone instead of grief.

A streak of fury rushed through his body at her words, tightening his fists at his sides. _She acts as if I am in the wrong…as if she did nothing! _Black and blinding his temper descended upon him; blocking out everything except for all the wrongs he had suffered in his life, all of the wrongs he had suffered because of Brielle. Taking a step forward, he jabbed a finger through the air right under the Irish woman's nose, his eyes flashing blue fire in the morning light.

"As if you did not know why I didn't write!" Erik hissed, drawing his hand back to his side when he noticed how it shook in the air between him and Brielle.

Confusion clouded Brielle's eyes for a moment as she took in his words. "Excuse me, but I have no idea to what you are referring."

Sniffing at her response, Erik curled one corner of his mouth up into a sneer. "Oh of course…you have absolutely no idea about what I am talking about. Women always seem to conveniently forget their own misdeeds."

Not intimidated by his imposing figure or brooding expression, Brielle reached out one hand as if to touch him. "Erik, please tell me what is wrong…"

Jerking a shoulder back and out of her reach, Erik clamped down on the longing within him which ached for the simple human contact her offered hand promised. He missed that, the touch and solidarity he had come to expect within the Donovan household. It was like going through withdrawal from a powerful narcotic. And because he wanted to so much to reach out and curl his fingers around her outstretched hand Erik took another step away from her, realizing suddenly the true danger she posed to his sanity.

At his retreat Brielle dropped her hand limply back to her side. Embarrassment flickered across her face as she looked down to the ground. Nervously she moved to spin her wedding ring about her finger, but stopped when her fingers touched nothing but bare flesh. Stunned, Erik realized that the plain gold band she had worn throughout their acquaintance was gone. _What in the world…she wore that thing religiously. She must have gotten rid of it when she decided to marry Andrew._

Caught up in his thoughts, Erik did not notice how Brielle's expression changed yet again. "What were you doing up here?" she asked suspiciously, her body language drawing in; as if she were talking to someone she did not know.

Startled by this new line of questioning it took Erik a moment to process what she was saying. Relief flooded through his body as he watched a growing mistrust work its way into her storm gray eyes. It made it easier to forget how weak her grief made him when he was faced with this subdued hostility. He was used to being feared and mistrusted. He was glad that anger now lit her soul-piercing eyes. The anger flattened the mirror-like quality of her gaze, making him not feel as exposed, as if she were looking right through his blustering.

"Why were you up here, Erik?" she repeated more forcefully when he didn't answer her.

Narrowing his eyes, Erik drew his lips back from his perfect white teeth, wanting to see the familiar flicker of fear he could usually evoke in other people on Brielle's classically proportioned face. "Mind your own business, Madame. People should not meddle in the affairs of others. Especially when they wish to keep a low profile."

Erik purposely touched on the one subject he knew would send her anxiety levels shooting skyward. From the hours he had spent observing Brielle since her arrival, he had come to conclude that her presence at the Opera was not completely voluntary. Something had happened after he left that forced her to go into hiding. Erik had seen the bruises on her face when she arrived, and it did not take a genius to figure out she had somehow gotten in over her head with her new fiancé. When he had first caught sight of her battered face, unexpected concern had clouded his brain, but now he was certain that she had most likely deserved everything which had happened to her.

He had finally pushed her far enough that all signs of any worry or pain she had displayed were now completely erased. Her features hardening into a mask of wintry disdain, Brielle tilted her chin up stubbornly. "Are you threatening me?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Erik flashed a mean-spirited smile her way. "If that is what you would like to think…"

She studied his face for a long tense moment, her eyes dark and flinty within her pale face. "Have you changed Erik…or was the man you were a year ago just a pretense?"

Feeling sure of himself now that he no longer had to struggle against the force of her obviously feigned concern; Erik fell comfortably back into the cool grip of his intellect. Logic, he knew, could win out over everything else, even love. So he certainly would have no trouble dealing with the vague affection he had once felt for this chit of a girl.

"Did you actually live under the delusion that you somehow, over the course of a few measly months, know anything about who I was? You truly are more of a fool than I initially thought." Raising one gloved hand up to casually trace a finger along the edge of his mask, Erik contemptuously considered Brielle's plain dress and scuffed shoes. "Of course I must admit that I was grateful to you at first; though after an interminable amount of time spent listening to your idiotic ideas and opinions, I was over eager to be free of your company."

Her features remaining carefully collected in the face of his biting comments, Brielle stood completely still. To a stranger her cold lack of reaction would have seemed odd given the barbing nature of his speech, but Erik knew better. Her mask-like calm, he knew, was a clear sign of how upset she truly was. Like him, Brielle built massive fortifications around her heart when confronted with genuine pain. Her ice-cold response only encouraged the mean streak within him to come up to the forefront.

"You are lying. You cannot tell me everything was not real. I cannot believe that it was all a fabrication. You were kind to my daughter, you taught her to find her voice when no one else could…"

Not liking the sentimental direction her words were going, Erik quickly interrupted her. "Unlike some people I know I do not say things I do not mean," he stated matter-of-factly, his terse response covering the remorse threatening to leak into his tone. Memories of his young former student sent unresolved regret flickering to life behind his emotional fortifications. Erik could justify his mistreatment of Brielle easily enough, but when he thought of how he left without even saying goodbye to Aria, he truly felt like a monster.

At his words a slight trembling running up and down Brielle's body betrayed her growing agitation. Cracks began to show in her wintry façade as she took a dogged step forward, purposely invading Erik's personal space. "And these are the words of a gentleman? I have heard many a hair-brained utterance since coming to this place…but you by far are the most ungallant, monstrous man I have ever..."

Pausing in the middle of her tirade Brielle cleared her throat and seemed to rethink her words before continuing. "Your arrogance and ill conceit to the sensibilities of others is nothing short of shocking. Your mother must have wept over your hell-bound soul the moment you were born!"

Fury tinting the edges of his vision red, Erik raised both hands to throttle the life out of the woman standing less than a foot in front of him. Freezing an inch from wrapping his hands about Brielle's throat, he fought for control, even as she dared him to lay a hand on her with flinty gray eyes. Unnerved by the steely unblinking challenge he saw in Brielle's face, Erik dropped his hands to his sides and stepped away from her. _What the hell is wrong with me? Just because she knows how to anger me doesn't mean I should give in to her scheme. I am better than that. I can control my temper…I will not debase myself by laying a hand on an uppity bitch of a woman. _

"What? Has a spark of conscience suddenly descended upon you?" Brielle asked through clenched teeth. "It was you who has been frightening the entire Opera these last few weeks, wasn't it? It all makes so much sense now. I had wondered why the oddities seemed to follow me. It is because you were targeting me wasn't it, you beast! You almost killed someone today!"

"Shut your mouth, woman…"

"Can you not terrorize people when they are looking you right in the eye? Are you such a coward that you can only bully people from the shadows? You forget I am not afraid of you, Erik! And I do not believe in the Phantom you are pretending to be!"

A wicked light brightening his dagger-sharp eyes, Erik grinned down at her. "Who says I am pretending?"

Faced with this new thought, Brielle blinked blankly up at him, her mouth falling open in shock. Erik dimly thought that perhaps his impulsive statement was not the best course of action, but he was so angry with Brielle that he didn't care. He wanted to squash the fight right out of her. Slowly a new depth of horror stole over Brielle's features as she considered the implications of his statement. Obviously, by the look on her face, she had been privy to the stories of some of the Phantom's more notorious actions.

"Meg did say that that man wore a mask…and that…"

"And that he lived below the Opera? Funny, isn't that the very place you found me last year?" he asked flippantly, enjoying the new avenue he had discovered to torment his former friend.

Looking rather ill, Brielle took a hasty step back. "That man…they say he was responsible for dropping the chandelier into the crowd…that he killed people. He could have been a mass murderer if that chandelier had fallen at slightly a different angle…it was luck that saved the crowd. Everyone says he was a madman."

"Indeed…that is what they say," he replied noncommittally. Choosing not to mention the fact that he had purposely rigged the blasted chandelier to fall exactly as it had, missing the crowd, but causing a huge distraction. She did not need to know that. In fact he preferred that she think of him as a killer. Perhaps if he scared her enough she would leave and he would finally be free of her.

Taking another step back as her brain made all of the connections between Erik and the Phantom, Brielle barely registered the Saint Jude metal slipping from her numb fingers and clattering to the floor at her feet. "Stay away from me…" she murmured. "Stay away from my daughter. I will kill you myself before I allow you to somehow hurt my family."

"Please try not to make empty threats, Madame…it is rather a sad thing. And I would rather not make likewise empty promises. Who knows who could get hurt when, say, a backdrop or sandbag fall? And I particularly do not want you here, Madame…your staying here will only exacerbate your problems."

Continuing to back away from him, as if she were retreating from a wild animal, Brielle held up a staying hand even though he had made no move to follow her. "You will not promise to keep away from Aria?"

Hating himself for using the child for his own purposes against her mother, Erik made himself look as unconcerned as possible. "No, I cannot promise that."

Paling, Brielle shook her head. "Then you may get your wish, sir. For I can no longer stay here with that threat hanging over my head!" Whirling, the Irish woman fled down the hallway, her long black braid swinging wildly behind her.

A triumphant smile flashed like summer lightning across Erik's face, short-lived but bright none the less. The adrenaline pumping through his system, making him feel light headed and invincible, but soon the euphoria began to fade and he began to realize the gravity of what he had just done. A mixture of happiness and grief warred within his body, leaving him breathless with the contrasting emotions. He had successfully stood up to one of the women in his life that had betrayed him, had hurt him; but somehow that knowledge also created a spike of icy sorrow through his heart. Erik knew he had lost something, once and for all, and somehow that terrified him.

Watching Brielle disappear around a corner, Erik stood stiffly exactly where he was. He was afraid that if he moved, even just an inch, the trembling that was shaking his hands would spread to the rest of his body; and that once it started he would never be able to make it stop. Letting out an unsteady breath, Erik raised a shaking hand to rub at his eyes. Suddenly feeling rather unsteady on his feet he staggered over to the nearby wall, leaning against it heavily. Turning his back to the wall, his legs gave out from under him. Slowly he slid down to the floor, both hands now up and covering his face.

_This is how I wanted a confrontation to go. This is what should have happened. She surprised me at first, but…but I reacted as I should have. This is what I wanted to happen._ Dropping one hand to his knee, Erik lightly banged the back of his head against the wall behind him, frustration at his mixed emotions nearly making him crazy. _So why do I feel as if I made some terrible mistake? _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Pounding down the staircases to the ground floor, Brielle felt on the verge of a fainting spell. Lightheaded and in a confused panic, she jumped the last two stairs and took off running across the back of the stage, making a beeline back toward her room. Her thoughts were in such a state of chaos that she didn't even hear the several concerned voices call her name when she passed the few people remaining on the stage. Every breath burned in and out of her lungs as she raced down a side hallway. Skidding a few feet past her door she backpedaled and staggered into her room, not caring if any of her coworkers woke up at her noise.

Unable to fully process what exactly had happened in the last several minutes, Brielle fell next to her bed upending her small trunk onto her mattress. Snatching a medium-sized bag, she began stuffing all her worldly belongings into the satchel. Moving to do the same with Aria's clothes, she found that her hands were shaking so badly that she could hardly get the trunk open.

Finished with her hasty unplanned packing session, Brielle jumped to her feet and ran back out the dormitory door. _He was here…he was here the whole time and he purposely hid from me! He isn't who I thought he was…he was pretending the whole time. He deceived me…I can't believe I was so stupid. And worse still…he has hurt people. He even admitted it. He is the one who has been making all the trouble around here. He even targeted me for some sick reason._

Running blindly down the hallway she headed toward the Opera's schoolroom, hoping that Aria hadn't grown bored and left the class. _I should have made the connection earlier! Meg told me the stories but I didn't believe her. She said that a man in a mask hurt people last year…GOD! How many men run around in masks! Why didn't I make the connection…he could have hurt me or my family at any time…I am so stupid…I have to get Aria away from here…_

Bursting into the schoolroom, Brielle ignored the outraged exclamation from the teacher. She spotted Aria immediately when the child turned in her seat to stare worriedly back at her disheveled mother. Moving into the room with absolutely no explanation to the sputtering teacher, Brielle took hold of her daughter's little hand, practically dragging the child out of the room when she turned and marched out the door.

Anxiety growing in Aria's expression every second, the child ran along after her mother. "M-Momma w-what is w-wrong! W-why do you h-have that b-bag?"

"We have to leave here, Aria. Something has happened. Someone knows who we are and so we have to leave before they do something bad," Brielle stated, her voice shaking with every word.

As her initial panic subsided slightly and her brain was about to process more than one thought at a time, Brielle finally felt the impact of what had happened. Every happy memory she still harbored between her and Erik was called into question. The entire last year seemed now to have been a lie, the months she spent mourning Erik's sudden departure, making her feel a fool. Her heart froze inside her chest, breaking into a million tiny shards with every new betraying thought that crossed her mind. And what made her heart ache worse was that now she had to leave the Opera, and the friends she had made there. In order to protect herself and her child she had to disappear again had to find her way out on the Parisian streets.

Close to tears, Brielle struggled against the hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm her at any moment. _I was a fool…complete idiot. To have allowed myself to feel…anything for him…but it was all a lie…he said so himself…it was all a lie. _

"B-But M-Momma I don't w-want to go!" Aria howled.

"Neither do I, but we have no choice! I don't want anyone to know anything about us…I don't want Andrew to ever find us again. If he ever did he might take you away from me…do you understand?"

Nodding her head, her large gray eyes misty with unshed tears, Aria turned her gaze to the ground. "Wh-Who is it?" she finally asked. "Wh-Who is m-making us l-leave this time?"

Not wanting to divulge the terrible truth, Brielle kept her mouth shut. She would keep the secret of her encounter with Erik to herself; she didn't want her daughter to have a share of the pain that she herself now felt. "Never mind that…it doesn't matter."

Her dark eyebrows pulling down into a frown, Aria set her face into a stubborn glower. "You d-don't have to l-lie. I k-know who it is."

Stopping in her tracks, Brielle turned and squatted down to eye level with Aria. "What are you talking about? Who do you think it is?"

Her expression darkening to a severely un-childlike scowl, Aria stared mutinously at the floor. "It w-was H-HIM wasn't it?"

"What him are you talking about!"

"It is Erik's f-fault w-we have to leave, isn't it?" the child finally burst out, her gray eyes flashing in anger. "H-He is the ghost p-people always t-talk about. The ghost t-that w-wears the m-mask."

Giving Aria a slight shake, Brielle could hardly believe what she was hearing. "How long have you known Erik was here? How long have you known he was the ghost?"

Pinching her lips together, Aria brought her eyes up to meet her mother's gaze. "Since w-we c-came here. S-Since everyone s-started t-talking about it."

"Why didn't you tell me! How did you know he was here?"

"I knew b-because I j-just f-felt h-he was h-here…I j-just knew. B-But I didn't s-say anything b-because I didn't w-want you to be f-friends with him again," Aria murmured bitterly. "I d-didn't tell b-because I h-h…b-because I h-h-h-a…" In her growing agitation the child couldn't get the last word out. Brielle moved to lay a soothing hand on Aria's shoulder, but the child jerked out of her grip, her tiny face turning red in fury.

"Because I HATE him!" she screamed finally, the words bursting out strangely clear. "He p-pretended to be my f-friend and then left without s-saying anything! I hate him…"

Drawing Aria into a gentle embrace, Brielle laid her cheek against her daughter's dark hair. _She knew the whole time and didn't say anything. I should have known her silence all those months meant something more than what people told me. She was grieving him too…but couldn't say anything._ "I know…I know…but it will be ok…don't worry…as long as we stick together everything will be ok. We don't need anyone else."

Nodding against her mother's neck, Aria remained silent, her tiny body shaking from her outburst. When a footstep sounded down the hall the child raised her head and silently tugged on her mother's sleeve. Looking around, Brielle caught sight of Meg hurrying down the hallway toward them.

Her chest heaving from the exertion, Meg ran the last few yards toward them. "What in the world in going on, Brielle? I saw you run across the stage a few minutes ago but you didn't answer when I called your name. You were so pale I was afraid you were about to fall over dead!"

Climbing to her feet, Brielle shifted uncomfortably. This was the reason why she had been so reserved when she first had arrived at the opera. She had wanted to avoid this, saying goodbye to a friend. "Something has happened, Meg…Aria and I have to leave the Opera…we can't stay here any longer. It just isn't safe."

"Is it because of that sandbag falling? Surely that can't be it…I mean that was just an accident…."

"It was NOT an accident…" Brielle burst out before thinking better of it. "But that isn't the reason…it is something else…please Meg, don't ask any more questions…"

When Brielle started off down the hall, toward one of the outside doorways, Meg followed close on her heels. "Brielle, you don't have to leave. If you are in some type of trouble we can help you here. I know you are hiding from someone…no one comes here to be a cleaning lady unless they are hiding or running from someone. No one here will let someone hurt you…you don't have to leave!"

Shrugging off Meg's words, Brielle shook her head. "No, you don't understand…I am sorry Meg…I never wanted to have to leave like this." Approaching a series of side doors that led to the outside world, Brielle felt the panic clawing at the back of her throat again. _How am I supposed to find a job? What am I supposed to do now? _

Jumping in front of her friend, blocking the way to the door, Meg held her hands out in a staying motion. "You shouldn't have to leave like this, Brielle. Where are you going to find a job? Where are you going to go? Stay…the Opera protects its own people…you can't just…"

Interrupted by the door behind her swinging open with a bang, Meg started and jumped forward out of the way. Seeing the silhouette of a tall man struggling with a heavy trunk, Meg pursed her lips in irritation. "Have you no manners? What is wrong with you just bursting in through a door and scaring the living daylights out of people?" the blonde snapped in an uncharacteristically priggish manner.

The man turned at Meg's admonishment, his features momentarily shaded by the bright sunlight behind his head. He dropped the trunk immediately and stepped forward through the door. Pulling off his hat, the man sketched a bow to the ladies, his red hair glinting in the light streaming through the doorway.

"My apologies, dear lady. I had no idea anyone used this side door. And since apparently everyone was busy already welcoming the two new divas, I didn't want to make a fuss. I…" Raising his head from the bow, the man goofily grinned first at Meg then Brielle. When his gaze focused in on Brielle's face he stopped talking completely and straightened up with a snap.

"Brielle?" he asked quietly, a disbelieving smile quickly overtaking his features and lightening the forest green of his eyes.

Equally shocked and delighted Brielle raised both hands up to cover her gaping mouth. "Conner? Sweet Mary, I can't believe you are here!"


	44. A Terrible Mistake

**Hey all. I know you are all getting a bit stir crazy over Brielle's and Erik's long feud…but not to worry. Things will be looking up. Hurray! Oh and sorry this chapter took so long…holiday shopping and all its craziness are my excuse. But anyway I hope you all enjoy.**

**A big thanks to my beta, terpsichore314. This chapter is a bit longer than the others but she plowed right through it. Oh and once again, though I suppose it is a bit repetitive, thank you to all my reviewers. I am noticing with each chapter a few new names popping up in the reviews, which is wonderful. I love to hear from a big base of people. So thanks to each and every one of you who found the time to jot down a little note. But besides that…I hope you enjoy the chapter. **

Chapter 44: A Terrible Mistake

Squinting against the sunlight streaming in through the door, Brielle raised a hand to shade her eyes. The man stopped struggling with his luggage and stepped across the threshold, taking off his hat and sweeping into a dramatic bow. Even before he raised his head and smiled at them Brielle knew who the man was. Stunned into stillness she watched her brother grin first at Meg then at her. A brief breathless moment passed when she had the wild idea that perhaps he didn't recognize her in her disguise and then the vague goofy smile slipped from his face as his gaze focused in on her face.

"Brielle?" he asked quietly, a disbelieving smile quickly overtaking his features and lightening the forest green of his eyes.

"Conner? Sweet Mary, I can't believe you are here!"

Letting out a shriek that was halfway between delight and anguish, Brielle threw herself into her brother's arms. Pressing her face into the soft cotton of his lapel, she felt her knees begin to buckle underneath her. The leaden, sickening weight pulling at her insides melted slightly as relief washed through her body, weakening her limbs to the point of collapse. Instantly Conner wrapped his arms around her, holding her up gently as she sagged in his embrace. All the fear and confusion washing within her settled into a mild churning in the background, leaving room in its wake for a rush of happiness so strong it left her gasping for breath.

Taking his sister's weight as she leaned against him, Conner fisted his hands behind her back, hesitating to fully enclose her in his arms, as if he feared she would disappear. Finally bringing one hand up to rest atop her hair, the redhead closed his eyes and let out a pained sigh. "You are really here aren't you? I almost cannot believe it. I have been searching for you…and when I couldn't find you…I was sure you and Aria were both dead."

Opening his eyes, Conner glanced over Brielle's shoulder and smiled down at where Aria stood a few feet away sucking on her thumb. Unwrapping one arm from Brielle he beckoned to the child. As if she had been waiting for a signal from him, Aria shot forward and flung her arms around her uncle's legs. For a moment the trio stayed like that, clinging to each other, desperate to know their reunion was not simply the figment of their imaginations. Reluctantly Conner pulled away from the two females holding onto him.

Taking hold of Brielle's shoulders, he eased her away from him so he could see her face. "What happened to you?" he asked haltingly. "Where have you been? Why didn't you let me know where you were going?"

Looking up into her brother's confused green eyes, Brielle managed to plaster a weak smile upon her face. "I am sorry I yelled at you that night at the engagement party. I should have listened to you…everything has gone wrong."

Shrugging his shoulders, Conner broke eye contact and stared down at the floor. "Don't apologize…please don't…this is all my fault…I should have been more careful…I should have taken care of you…I wasn't there to take care of you."

Opening her mouth to argue against his statements, horrified by the knowledge that he had felt guilt over her disappearance, Brielle caught the flicker of a shadow out of the corner of her eye. In a split second all feelings of well-being and happiness evaporated as the fear once again took hold. Suddenly remembering the reason why she had been running out the side door in the first place, Brielle stiffened, glancing over her shoulder fearfully.

"Conner…we have to get out of here…"

"What? Why?"

Halfway covering her mouth with one hand, Brielle leaned forward to whisper in Conner's ear. "HE is here Conner…I didn't know until just today…but…but it is him…I looked him right in the eye. Please, Conner, we have to leave this place!"

Obviously not sure of who the 'he' was, Conner tilted his head slightly to the side in confusion. "Who are you talking about?" His eyes flickered around the hallway with a frown, his expression quickly darkening to something Brielle had never seen on him before. Conner's usually bright emerald eyes caught fire with a feral light, his boyishly freckled face tightening into a grimace. "Andrew…is he here? Is that who you are talking about?"

"No…Conner, listen…you don't understand. We have to leave…"

Nodding vaguely, Conner took a carefully controlled breath. "No need to run off Bri," he said with a strange calm. "Just show me where he is…I'll break him apart with my bare hands…"

Digging her fingers into her brother's arm, Brielle fought to regain his attention. "NO! I wasn't talking about Andrew! Conner…it's…it's…"

Just thinking about her disastrous meeting with her former friend made Brielle's anxiety level shoot through the roof. The reality of what was said only then began to fully sink in. Before that moment Brielle had been operating under a fog of denial. There had been a certain part of her that could not grasp the entirety of the situation, but the dream was over now, and she knew with a finality that scared her that a certain part of her life had come to an end. Her life with Erik had been a farce, and the fantasy it had created was finally crushed into a million pieces. Tears springing into her eyes Brielle raised a hand to press against her chest, trying to control the hammering pain as her heart broke in two. A buzzing started in her ears, making it hard to concentrate on what was being said around her.

"I don't feel so…I don't…" she mumbled, hearing her own voice as if from a great distance.

"For God's sake!" piped a sharp voice from the sidelines. "She looks ready to faint any moment. We need to go somewhere where she can sit down."

Startled by the interruption, Conner blinked over at Meg as she stepped forward, her hands nervously clutched together in front of her. He opened his mouth to reply but froze when his gaze focused in on her face. At that moment he seemed to actually see her for the very first time. The two stared at one another for several silent moments, Conner with a surprised and guarded interest and Meg with a blushing frown, before Conner cleared his throat and tore his eyes away. Blinking several times, the redhead carefully arranged his features into a convincing, playful smile.

"But of course, you are correct. I have been a boor asking so many questions and making everyone stand about all this time." Taking his sister gently by the arm he leaned forward and asked quietly, "Can you walk then…you do look pale as death."

"Yes, I can walk…I just feel dizzy…like the bottom has been pulled out from under me," Brielle replied through bloodless lips, looking helplessly over at Meg as the girl hovered worriedly several feet away. A spike of guilt thrust itself into her already bludgeoned heart. _I can't lie to her anymore. It is too dangerous…my past…she should know exactly who she has taken in as a friend…she should know the danger that comes with knowing me. _

"Where can we go to be alone…where no one will walk in on us? I think I have a few things to explain to the both of you," Brielle breathed, too tired and emotionally bankrupt to continue in her charade any longer.

When both Conner and Brielle looked to Meg, whose knowledge of the Opera superseded their own, the dancer thought for a moment before offering up a suggestion. "There is one place no one else would ever go. And it is out of the way…and quiet. But…but well…well the reason most people won't go there is because they still think it is haunted."

"Perfect." Conner intoned as he momentarily released his sister to turn and wrestle his trunk through the door. Unlocking his luggage he leaned down and plucked out a pristine black violin case. Straightening he slung the long strap of the case over his shoulder and returned to his sister's side.

An irritated expression flickered over Meg's face at Conner's easy acceptance of a place Meg herself was obviously uncertain about. "Wait you don't understand. Last year the…"

Waving a dismissive hand in the air Conner wrapped his other arm about Brielle's waist. "It sounds perfect. Lead the way, Madame."

Bristling, Meg stomped ahead of their small group, her ballet shoes whispering across the wood paneling on the floor. "It is mademoiselle, sir, not that it should make any difference to you." she clipped through pursed lips as she swept down the hallway ahead of them.

Hesitating for a split second, Conner looked after the blonde's retreating figure, a quizzical, considering expression overtaking his habitual goofy grin. When Brielle glanced up, wondering at the slight pause, the redhead shook his head and started forward slowly, smiling when Aria took hold of his coat tails and trailed along behind them. Passing a row of four-foot-tall African style drums that stood like sentinels along one wall, and ducking around a forest of low hanging curtains, Conner's eyes wandered to their strange surroundings, his expression showing none of the reserve Brielle had first felt upon entering the strange underworld behind the Opera's stage.

When the small group turned down a long hallway, Brielle pulled up short, recognizing the place Meg was leading them. "I know this place. Madame Dubois made me clean this entire hallway. These are the dressing rooms for the main artists of the Opera. Apparently an up-and-coming singer last year was kidnapped from the mirror room. That is why they think it is haunted…or so I have heard anyway." Turning her face to the floor Brielle couldn't stop her mind from turning once again to Erik. _He said he was the ghost everyone talks about. Was it him who took that girl? Did he do that on top of everything else? God…I feel sick._

Smiling at Brielle's hushed story, Conner raised his ginger-colored eyebrows in mock alarm, as usual trying to alleviate the tension of the moment with comedy, especially now that he saw how pale his sister had gone again. "My, my…they have a ghost and everything. Well, that will sure make my stay here all the more interesting. And it provides a convenient avenue in which to torture my snotty coworkers. From what I hear the leading ladies are both terrors."

Turning at the doorway, her cinnamon-colored eyes glittering in disapproval, Meg glared over Conner's flippant statement with a great deal of gravity. "Shame on your brother, Brielle," she said, trying to hold onto her serious expression in the face of Conner's silliness. "Even if those biddies deserve every bit of it," she mumbled as she opened the door to Christine's old dressing room.

Quickly moving into the room and closing the door behind them, Conner carefully led Brielle to one of the chairs now decorating the corners. Falling into the chair with a sigh, the Irish woman raised one hand to rub against her eyes, a little disconcerted by the image of herself staring with haunted eyes back at her from the large floor-to-ceiling mirror. She smiled slightly when Aria plopped down upon the floor at her feet, a section of her mother's skirt clutched tightly in one hand.

Feeling suddenly nervous, Brielle avoided looking at both Meg and her brother for several moments before gathering her courage and raising her eyes to theirs. "I suppose I have a lot of explaining to do. To both of you. Things have turned out so far from how I thought they would…I hardly recognize myself anymore…"

Looking perplexed, Meg pulled a footstool closer to Brielle's chair, and sitting down she leaned forward with her hands clasped between her legs. Conner stood, leaning one shoulder against the bronze leaf work of the mirror's frame, his arms crossed over his chest. His smile dimmed to a neutral expression of patient interest, though his eyes glittered a bright fairy green from underneath his ginger eyebrows. Brielle could tell that despite his relaxed pose Conner was on pins and needles waiting for her answers. Until just a few moments ago he had thought she might be dead, no doubt he was waiting for some sort of explanation.

Stirring from his place next to the mirror Conner was the first to speak. "I suppose a good place to start would be right after the last time I saw you. After the engagement party I didn't hear a word from you."

Perking up with interest, Meg straightened on her footstool. "You were engaged, Brielle? I didn't know you were going to get married for the second time."

Sighing, Brielle leaned back in her chair, looking from her brother to Meg then back again. "Yes, I was engaged for a time," she stated mechanically.

Ignoring Conner's impatient sigh, Meg leaned forward, her interest fully caught. "Well, who was he? Why isn't he around…what happened?"

Pausing to sift through the questions shot out at her, Brielle raised a hand to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was engaged to the current Lord Donovan, Andrew. It seemed the smart thing to do. I was a widow and had no income…and Aria needed taking care of. He had asked me before, but I turned him down. But when he asked me again this last summer there didn't seem a reason to say no."

The smile on Meg's face faltered at Brielle's reply, obviously dismayed at the emotionless tone in which her friend talked about her fiancé. Recovering slightly, Meg opened her mouth. "You were engaged to an English lord!" Meg squeaked, before she cleared her throat. "And I know that name, he is one of the richest men in all of the British isles. How in the world did you meet him?"

"Well, actually, I knew him already because I was married to his brother a long time ago. My name isn't Brielle Donner, Meg…it is Donovan. My first husband was John Donovan. And we met at John's birthday party…we were invited, I think, because Conner had impressed most of the blue blood at a concert he held earlier that week."

Finally losing the last of his patience, Conner stepped forward before Meg could react to Brielle's revelation. "All right, enough of the background information. Bri…you have to tell me what happened. I can't stand not knowing any longer."

Not liking the look in her brother's eyes, Brielle hesitated. "Perhaps it would be better for you not to know, Conner," she said slowly.

Switching unconsciously to his native tongue, Conner ran a frustrated hand through his already rumpled red hair. "Don't you dare try to skirt the issue," he exploded in Gaelic. "I want to know exactly what happened so that when I kill that bastard I know how long I should make it last!"

"Oh Conner really! That is your temper talking! You will do no such thing!" Brielle shouted, bristling at the thought of her brother putting himself in danger for her sake. "You leave him be…you don't have any idea how dangerous he is!"

His temper cooling quickly, as it always did, Conner settled back to leaning against the wall. "Fine…" he stated evenly. "So tell me then."

Brielle quickly looked in Meg's direction, still uncomfortable about revealing her past to anyone there at the theater. Putting aside her still lingering mistrust, she folded her hands in her lap. "After you left that night…or rather…after I threw you out of the house, I thought about what you had said about Andrew hiding your letters from me. That night I broke into his office and sure enough found all of the letters you had sent in one of his drawers." Taking a calming breath she continued with her story, her voice flat and distant as she recounted the events.

"Andrew found me in there searching his desk. He was angry but not abnormally so, at first anyway…but when I confronted him about the letters something changed. He…well, he hit me and I…" A violent crash from the mirror stopped Brielle's explanation. She shot a glare Conner's way as he withdrew his fist from where he had slammed it into the plate of glass behind him.

His lips pinching closed, white with rage, Conner silently motioned for Brielle to continue. "Um…all right. Andrew gave me a very logical explanation as to why he had your letters, and I am ashamed to say I believed him. Looking back now I see how much of a coward I had become. I had grown so used to being told what to do by that point that I just swallowed everything he said."

Leaning forward, Meg laid a hand on Brielle's knee. "Oh, Brielle, that is all so terrible. I cannot believe someone would do that to you."

"Oh…it gets worse," Brielle replied with a nervous half laugh. "He of course apologized profusely for laying a hand on me. At least, to my credit, I did not so easily believe him then. I think I was just beginning to realize that perhaps I did not know him as well as I thought I did. I never would have thought that he would have hurt me…but then again, considering my history of making faulty judgments on men's characters I should have known better. To further apologize, Andrew told me he wanted to be honest with me. He asked me if there were any other questions that I needed answering, so I asked him if he had had anything to do with the way Erik left all those months ago. I don't think he had been expecting that question because he would not answer. When I pressed him about it he merely ignored me and said that I should go back to my room. On the stairs the argument only escalated, because of his silence I knew he had done something to drive Erik away. When Andrew tried to throw off my grip I tripped and fell backward down the stairs."

Meg gasped aloud at that, both her hands flying up to her mouth. "Brielle! Is that why you had all those bruises when you first came here? Your fiancé pushed you down the stairs! I always wondered how it happened, but I couldn't bring myself to pry into your past. I didn't want to make you bring up bad memories…oh Brielle, I am sorry!"

"My god Bri! Why didn't you write me? I would have gotten you out of there!"

Leaping to her feet Brielle began to pace the room in agitation. "I couldn't…I wanted to but I couldn't. After that night he watched me like a hawk…kept me locked in my room. He wouldn't let me see Aria and on more than one occasion said that if I did not marry him he would take her from me…that he would fight for custody." Coming to a stop, she wrung her hands together in front of her. "As soon as I was strong enough, I took Aria and ran away. We made it to Paris without any problems…but because it is winter everything cost so much more than I thought it would. I sold the horse…I sold my wedding ring…I changed how I looked…and eventually we ended up here and I got a job on the cleaning staff. I wanted to write to you Conner but I was afraid somehow Andrew would intercept the letter and then he would know where I was…"

Moving back to her chair, Brielle sank back down into it. "One night when he was drunk he came into my room, and…well, I got the feeling that Andrew had something to do with John's death…Conner, from what he said…I think he shot his brother so that I would be free to marry him. And I think he orchestrated Erik's hasty departure…I don't know exactly what it was he did…but I know it is his fault…though knowing what I know now perhaps it is for the better that Erik left then."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Conner asked shortly. "If he had stayed you would never have agreed to marry Andrew…" he continued, ticking the reason off on his finger.

"Conner…" Brielle began, her voice tense.

Continuing without pause despite his sister's interruption, Conner raised his voice slightly, ticking off another finger. "You would never have moved into that giant mansion and been cut off from me…"

"Conner, please, for the love of God…"

"And you can bet had Andrew tried to pull that bullshit while Erik was still in the house he would have ripped his arms off!" he finished at a near shout. "That is why I felt so comfortable leaving you to finish out my tour in England, because I knew someone was there to look out for you!"

Raising both hands to press at her temples Brielle tried to block out Conner's words. The clawing pain within her chest grew once again until she could think of nothing else, making it hard draw in a breath. "Shut up Conner!" she finally yelled. "Are you still so sure in that man's character even though he left without so much as a goodbye to any of us!"

Silence ruled for several long minutes before Conner pushed away from the wall and crossed the room to kneel next to his sister. Taking her clammy hands in his, he raised her cold fingers to his lips, trying desperately to wrap his brain around the horror story Brielle had told him. "You said he was here…what he were you talking about?" he asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

"Erik…Erik is here. He has been here the whole time I think…ever since he left last spring…he told me that he is the one who has been…well he is the one who…" Stopping suddenly in mid sentence Brielle clamped her mouth shut. Her gray eyes dancing across the carpeted floor in confusion she found she could not finish what she had been about to say. She couldn't tell them that Erik was the one who had been terrorizing the Opera house; she couldn't voice his crimes aloud. Opening her mouth then shutting it again she struggled to get the words past her tongue. _What is wrong with me? I should tell them…so they know to avoid him…but…but I can't…_And with a sudden terrible realization she knew exactly why she could not give Erik away; even after everything that had happened, she was protecting him.

Not noticing his sister's lengthy silence, Conner stood, his eyes distant in thought. "Wait a moment, if he is here then why didn't he…"

Waving off her brother's question, Brielle shook her head, not wanting to go into that conversation with him. Likewise, jumping to her feet with her hands fisted at her sides, Meg practically vibrated with fury, the puffy white chiffon of her practice outfit fluttering wildly in her agitation. "I can't believe this…I can't believe it…"

Feeling her heart sink at her friend's reaction to her story, Brielle braced herself for the girl to tell her their friendship was over. After lying to her all this time the Irish woman couldn't blame her. "Meg…I am sorry I lied to you…but I was afraid that…"

"No. No, don't apologize. I understand why you did. You didn't know anyone here when you first came…you didn't know you could trust me. I am just so mad…at…at that Andrew guy. You must tell me what he looks like so I can be on the lookout for him," Meg burst out. "Like I said before, we take care of our own around here…and you can be sure if that man shows up here he will be lucky if he walks away with all his body parts still attached."

Looking up at her young friend, Brielle found a smile spreading across her face. Something about the image of Meg's petite form shaking with anger, her ringlets bouncing with every shake of her fist was absolutely hilarious. "Well thanks, Meg…that is nice to know."

Having remained quiet through this exchange, Conner finally pushed himself back into the conversation. "All right we need a plan on how we are going to handle this," he said hurriedly, running both hands through his hair, his eyes momentarily alighting on Meg's outraged figure before flickering away again.

"Yes absolutely," Brielle agreed hurriedly. "We must leave here as soon as possible. It is just not safe!"

Wrinkling his nose in obvious disagreement over his sister's suggestion Conner crossed his arms loosely over the front of his chest, a mutinous grimace creasing the corners of his mouth. "Absolutely not," he stated at the exact moment the same words were repeated from across the room where Meg stood frowning.

Looking a little surprised, and annoyed, that she had mimed Conner's expression, down to the very way her arms were crossed rebelliously across her chest, Meg cleared her throat and tilted up her chin. "You can't just up and leave Brielle. If you do don't you think people will wonder over much about your hasty departure? It would cause certain tongues to wag and that is the last thing you should want to happen right now."

Jumping in quickly to further the point Conner tapped a finger thoughtfully against his chin. "Yes, and I assume you know that this is one of the best places in all of Paris in which to loose yourself. Brielle, Andrew could look for you until he is blue in the face and he would never find you here. You have friends here…they will look out for you. I cannot allow you to leave as easily as that."

Shaking her head despretely Brielle hit her hand against the chair's arm. "No! You don't understand. There is danger in this place too…just today I found out that…"

Butting in before she could finish Conner waved a quieting hand in the air. "Whatever you are afraid of here we can deal with. But it is not possible for you to leave right now. Brielle you do see the logic in what we are saying don't you? It is safer here…no matter what."

Closing her mouth with a snap Brielle lowered her eyes to the floor in thought. _If I leave I would have to fight to find another honest occupation. And even with Conner's help that would near be impossible. He would want to come with me…and if Andrew is having him followed then we will be spotted soon enough. My god…they are right…the lesser of two evils would be to stay here…despite Erik's presence…despite who he really is…surely I could avoid him. I am smart enough to keep a step ahead in here. And no matter how I feel about staying personally…I will have to put it aside. It will be hard…but I have to put it aside, for Aria._

"Yes, I daresay you are both right. Despite everything staying in the Opera is out best bet. Dealing with the dangers I know about here is far better than facing the unknown dangers elsewhere._"_

"Good, I am glad you are seeing the sense of it. I was worried you see…seeing as you are one of the most senseless women I know," Conner stated seriously, the bite of his words lessened by the joking light glittering in his eyes. Clearing his throat and assuming an overly dramatic air the redhead stalked about the room. "There is no need for you to continue to work yourself to the bone scrubbing this place's floors. You can stay with me from now on. You won't have to worry about anything anymore…"

"Conner, if I stay with you and Andrew comes around he will find us soon enough. Wouldn't he expect us to make contact at some point or another? Has he been asking you where I am?" Brielle asked, reluctantly falling into planning her now certain stay in the Opera.

"No, but he has the police out looking for you. By the time I went to file a report he had already been to the station."

"Damn…All right I'll have to stay away from the authorities then. But I think it is obvious that I should keep my job. Like Meg said earlier it is better if I didn't draw attention to myself. I mean, don't you think people will think it odd that one of their cleaning ladies is all of a sudden the sister of their new lead violinist? So no one can know we know each other."

"Well, yes, that does sound rather odd, but it is ridiculous that you think I will let you continue on as you have been. Like nothing has changed. Now that I have found you, I will be damned if I let you out of my sight for a second."

"I will not be a burden, Conner! I am doing fine as I am. I found a job on my own and I intend to keep it."

"Hell and damnation! God Bri, you are more stubborn than a mule!" Conner flared before grudgingly adding, "But partially I think you are right. If Andrew knows where I am, it could lead right to you."

"Then it is settled? We will continue exactly as before?" Brielle asked as she placed a hand on her daughter's head, only then noticing that the child was staring fixedly at the mirror with narrowed eyes. Following Aria's gaze she searched the glass's surface finding nothing out of the ordinary to draw the intense scrutiny she saw on her daughter's face. Frowning she looked away, her skin crawling with the odd feeling of being watched.

"Everything said in this room will stay in this room," Brielle finished, her heart-shaped mouth forming a stern determined line. _That's right…leave it all behind in this room…Andrew…Erik…everything…forget it all…lock it away…push the hurt away…you can do it…just will it away…will it away…_When everyone else in the room nodded in agreement Brielle took Aria's hand, heading toward the door. Meg followed close behind the Irish woman, her large doe-like eyes fixed straight ahead worriedly.

Allowing the women to leave ahead of him, Conner lingered in the dressing room for several minutes. Turning, he slowly retrieved his violin case from where he had set it when they entered the room. Shrugging the case over one shoulder, the redhead strolled out the door, closing it quietly behind him. Before her released the door handle a light lit his eyes.

"Erik was here this whole time and he didn't do anything?" he murmured to himself. "Well, I will just have to see why that is. And he better have a good excuse, otherwise I might have to beat some sense into his thick skull." A broad smile flickered across his face. "I could use the workout." Releasing the doorknob, Conner turned and hurried up the hall to catch up to where his sister and Meg were disappearing around the far corner.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Conner sat slouched at the edge of the stage, his precious violin resting against his thighs, as he dangled his bare feet into the orchestra pit. Behind him Carlotta suddenly stopped practicing her aria and began to loudly berate some poor chorus girl for an unknown reason. He smiled as most of the other orchestra members made faces at each other, miming the dramatic screeching on stage. If not for the good humor of the other musicians he knew he would be beating his head against the floor in frustration, for the diva's constant interruptions and peevish demands seemed endless. In the week since he had arrived at the opera he had yet to get through an entire piece without disruption.

The rigors of working as just a part of a larger team was beginning to wear on even his unflappable patience. Used to the instant gratification of being a solo artist, it had taken a few days for him to settle into the process of the opera's daily practice. Though he did not think he would ever get used to Carlotta's flamboyant outbursts or the quieter, more insidious complaints of the new lead ballerina, Maryann. He wrinkled his nose at the thought that, in a way, he could be lumped in with the crazed divas because he was also a big name brought in to attract wealthy investors. It was funny really how hard the two managers of the opera had pursued him, considering he had only taken the job in the first place to remain in Paris. He had wanted to stay close in case any word of Brielle had turned up. Of course, he didn't have to worry about that anymore.

Rolling his eyes skyward, Conner glanced over his shoulder at the other members of the production trying to calm the enraged diva. Easily hopping to his feet the redhead strolled across the stage to stand smiling before the arguing crowd of women. "Ladies, is there a problem over here?" he asked politely.

All conversation stopped at his arrival as many pairs of appreciative feminine eyes locked onto his freckled face. Turning on his award-winning grin, Conner was fully aware of how attractive the combination of his neat, well-cut suit with his bare feet and rumpled hair was to the average woman. His slightly unkempt look usually had a rather positive affect on the fairer sex. He knew people considered him an unabashed flirt, but somehow he didn't mind being classified as one. It was just easier using a bit of charm to get things done rather than arguing.

At his approach the sour expression pinching Carlotta's face slipped into an over-bright smile as the dark-haired woman shoved her way forward to stand directly in front of him. "No, no…no a problem here. We were just eh…how you say…discussing things, yes?" Shooting a sharp glance around her, Carlotta waited for the other girls to nod in agreement to her statement.

"Wonderful!" Conner exclaimed, offering up a playful wink for the gathered women. "Perhaps we can continue with the practice, then. Though I must say, based on what we have gotten through so far, the singing is inspired." Pausing after that blatant bit of flattery, the redhead turned to take up his position in the pit, his eyes involuntarily moving to light upon the dance corps practicing far off to one side.

Looking quickly away when he caught sight of a certain blonde watching his movements, Conner sank down to sit on the edge of the stage. Feeling a little foolish over how his heart skipped a beat at the very sight of Brielle's friend Meg, he quickly raised his violin to his chin, more than ready to begin practicing again and forget the boyish embarrassment staining his cheeks pink. _Lord, I haven't felt this awkward around a woman since I was like fifteen years old. And what is strange is that Meg is not the most beautiful woman I have ever dealt with before. Certainly I should be able to glance in her direction without acting like a chit. But I don't know…there is something about her that just throws me off my game. Maybe because she always looks so annoyed whenever she catches me looking over at her. Oh well, better to not even think about it. _Waiting for the conductor to raise his baton, Conner's mind once again began to wander.

In the seven days since his arrival he had had little time to spend with his sister and niece during the day. It was only at night, long after practices were over, that he had the time to shadow Brielle on her cleaning rounds. Never having been handy with a mop or broom, his sister had forbidden him from helping her in any way with her duties. She had correctly assumed his efforts to help would have only gotten in the way. Besides the guilt he felt over how hard Brielle's job forced her to work, and the lingering unease he felt whenever he wondered what exactly Andrew currently knew, the time he had spent with his sister had been happy.

But when he was not with his family, or at practice, he was spending his free time in a pursuit Brielle most surely would have disapproved of. In fact, he purposely kept his activities from her for that very reason, because promising her to stop would have only hindered him in his plan. Though he had to admit even without her bothering him about it, Conner had not gotten far in his search for his former masked friend. He just did not know where to begin since he could not ask where Erik was staying or which department he was working in. So every free moment had been spent searching the opera house from top to bottom.

Dropping his violin to his lap with a discordant screech, Conner turned and openly glared over his shoulder as Maryann started another ruckus within the ballet corps. He watched as Madame Giry marched up and waved the cane she carried while teaching in the younger girl's face. Looking beseechingly back to the conductor, Conner let out a huge sigh. Taking the hint, the conductor nodded and quickly dismissed the orchestra, much to the relief of everyone there. Hopping to his feet happily, Conner padded across the stage and into one of the wings, wanting very much to escape the chattering noise of the disgruntled chorus and ballerinas. As he passed Meg, he flashed her his best smile, but instead of smiling back at him Meg merely gave him a guarded look and turned away. Irritated by this odd reaction the redhead snatched up his violin case and placed his instrument inside with far less finesse than usual.

Slinging the case over his shoulder, Conner straightened the lapels of his jacket. Taking out his pocket watch, he checked the time before starting off toward a nearby staircase. "Well, no better way to work off your female frustrations than to go wading through piles of dusty props in the search of a brainless twit," he mumbled to himself as he took the stairs two at a time.

Without a solid plan on where he wanted to look today, Conner stopped climbing when he reached the third floor landing. Stepping lightly, the Irish man strolled languidly past a menagerie of stuffed animals, allowing his mind to wander he stopped to stick out his tongue at the frozen form of a snarling tiger. A series of quiet footsteps coming from down a side hallway had Conner quickly straightening and retracting his tongue back into his mouth. Cocking his head to one side the redhead listened to the steps for some time before turning his attention back to the far more interesting display of break away weapons lining the wall behind the animals. _Sounds like one of the stagehands. They all have that same springy sort of step, helps them keep balanced on those catwalks I guess._

Stepping over a deer's head lying on the floor, Conner plucked a spear from the wall, smiling as he poked at the retractable head. A slight movement out of the corner of his eyes had him turning his head to the right. He was just in time to see a face disappear back around the corner. _Odd, _he thought briefly, _did that guy just see that I was standing here so ducked back the other way?_ Forgetting to replace the spear back where he had found it Conner hopped back over the deer head and hurried around the nearby corner, where he had seen the person go.

Moving silently on the balls of his bare feet, Conner made it around the corner just in time to see the hem of a cloak disappearing around another corner up ahead of him. _Hmm, definitely not a stagehand…they wouldn't wear a full length cape._ His interest fully piqued now, Conner picked up his pace and rounded the next corner at a full run. Green eyes flickering about the empty hallway in front of him, Conner frowned when he saw no sign of the mysterious figure. Coming to a stop he noted that there were no doors within this particular corridor through which the man could have disappeared. _What the hell? I wasn't that far behind…_ Readjusting the strap of his violin case Conner quickly checked behind a stack of large rolls of cloth, only to find no one behind it.

Perplexed now, he walked the entire length of the hallway, looking for some explanation as to why a man could have completely disappeared. About midway down the corridor he found a dark scuff mark that curved across the floor, pointing directly toward the wall. Smiling now in understanding, Conner carefully ran his fingers over the wall until he detected the slightest indentation that was the clear signal of some sort of hidden door. Silently laughing to himself over his own cleverness the redhead set about trying to find the trick to open the secret door. _Well, this afternoon is certainly turning out far more interesting than I thought it would._

Stumbling upon the latch when he accidentally bumped his elbow against the wall sconce, Conner let out a triumphant yelp when the wall before him slid back to reveal a dark, tight little passage beyond. Without a thought as to how smart it was for him to go wandering around in some unknown hidden passage when no one else knew where he was, Conner gave a happy little shrug and strolled into the waiting darkness.

Quietly tiptoeing down the passage, he followed the thin corridor for several hundred feet before it began to curve off toward the left. Easing around this turn, Conner blinked when he saw the silhouette of a man opening a little doorway up ahead of him. Picking up the pace, the redhead hurried after the man and caught the door before it could fully swing shut. Coming out into the hallway as quietly as he could, Conner froze when he saw the cloaked man turn slightly to the side. _Damn I think he noticed that the door didn't shut as quickly as it should ha…hey wait a second…_Spotting the telltale edge of a white mask Conner forgot about being quiet as he set his violin case down with a thump.

Hearing this slight sound the man up ahead burst into a full-out run; his black cape billowing out behind him at the sudden movement. Ready for this type of reaction, Conner took off after the man, only then remembering the prop spear he still clutched in his hand. Stumbling to a stop the redhead raised the spear and threw it after the retreating figure. Catching the man right behind the right knee, the force of the throw sent him falling to the floor with a surprised oath.

Laughing triumphantly, Conner raced down to the end of the hall before the man could regain his feet and happily leapt atop the cloaked figure. Jabbing his knee roughly into the base of the man's back, the redhead planted his hands on his captive's shoulders. "Hello there, Erik. Long time no see."

Stilling on the floor, Erik turned his head so he could glare malevolently up at Conner. "Get the hell off me or I will be forced to hurt you." Came the tight-lipped reply.

"I am afraid I can't do that, my friend. You see I am a bit tired after looking for you for a week. And now that I have caught you I am a little unwilling to just let you run off aga…Gaah!"

In the middle of his speech Conner was completely caught off guard when Erik swiftly twisted on the ground and threw the redhead across the hall in one violent action. Banging his head against the far wall, the Irish man's temper was immediately set ablaze as he clamored to his knees. "You god-damned bastard, is that any way to say hello!" he growled, grabbing hold of the hem of Erik's cloak and giving it a sharp jerk, partially choking the other man with the movement.

"Did I not ask you nicely first!" Erik croaked against the pull of his cape. Grappling with the cloth for several brief moments the masked man kicked out a foot and knocked Conner's hands off of his cloak.

"Yeah, and you should know I never listened to you anyway, you idiot!" Conner shot back as he swung his fist, hitting Erik square in the jaw. A full out brawl ensued as both men wildly punched at each other.

Panting with exhaustion after several minutes of knocking the dickens out of each other Erik opened his mouth in a snarl. "I am not in the mood for this, Conner. Don't you have something better to do, like watch after your bloody sister?"

"Nope, she says she can look after herself just fine," came the grunted reply as Conner grabbed up the forgotten spear and brought it down across Erik's left shoulder.

Reaching into his coat, Erik produced a small two-edged dagger, and bringing the blade up to menace Conner with, the masked man was shocked to find himself looking down the barrel of a small revolver. Tensing immediately, Erik fell back a step. "My, you are quick my friend," he said bitingly, the blue of his eyes glittering sharp as river ice over at his panting companion.

Laughing a little breathlessly, Conner shrugged his shoulders, keeping the small caliber pistol level with Erik's chest. "You know me…I am always getting into trouble…but I never lose a fight. And now maybe you will stay still long enough for me to talk to you for a moment."

"You can speak if you want. It matters not to me but do not expect to share some sort of touching moment. I do not have the time to chat," Erik snapped defensively, the knife disappearing mysteriously back into the masked man's jacket. Delicately he reached up and touched a gloved hand to the small cut on his lower lip.

"Yeah, right. What other pressing matter do you have? Besides this won't take long. I only have a few questions." When Erik only snorted in response Conner absently wiped at the blood dripping from his nose. "It is simple, really. I ask a question and you answer, then we can both go about our own business. First of all I want to know why it was only recently that Brielle learned that you are here, when it is obvious that you were here the whole time. She could have really used the help of an old friend."

Erik glared furiously at Conner for several silent moments before finally stirring. "As you said before, your sister does not like to accept the help of others. But I would hardly say that we parted under amiable circumstances. As it was I decided to keep my distance."

Nodding in understanding, Conner leaned his back against the wall behind him. "Ah, I see. You don't know. Listen to me carefully whatever it was that made you mad enough to storm off…well it was all set up. I have the craziest story to tell you…which you won't believe. But to keep it short Andrew set you up. He fixed things in order to get you out of the house."

Waving one hand dismissively, Erik sighed. "Yes, yes. I already know that. But believe me, Andrew is not fully to blame for the reason why I left. I knew what he was trying to do back then. His trickery was something I could easily pick out. No, it was Brielle's own actions that made me decide to go."

Staring blankly over at the other man, Conner thought over Erik's words. "What are you talking about. She didn't want you to leave. God, Erik, after you left it was like someone had died. She didn't leave the house for a month, just stayed in her room all day, staring out the window."

"What?" Apparently thrown off by this little bit of information, the masked man's cold expression cracked slightly. "No, that must have been because of something else…you are mistaken. I couldn't stay there any longer…not after seeing her…"

Noting the pause in Erik speech Conner sat up a little straighter. "What…seeing what?"

"I should think it hardly appropriate to discuss it with her brother…" Erik snapped.

Rolling his eyes, Conner dropped the hand holding his weapon to his lap. "Don't be such a prude, Erik! Lord!" he exclaimed sarcastically, purposely and gleefully pushing his old friend's buttons, knowing it was the fastest way to get to the root of the issue at hand.

Incited by that barb the masked man stiffened in outrage. "Fine! Since you want to know so badly you ill mannered boor! I saw her kissing Andrew…after she told him she loved him. Are you happy now? I have answered all of your questions I think it is time I go."

"Don't move, you crazy bastard," Conner stated casually, confusion narrowing his eyes. "I know for a fact that Bri didn't feel anything more for Andrew than vague affection. In what context did she say this?"

His patience obviously at its end, bright furious color rose up to stain Erik's face scarlet. "I don't want to talk about this anymore!" Erik exploded. "Can you not understand? She made a choice…simple as that! Even if that choice later turned into a disaster…I mean I could have told her it would. I knew that man was dangerous the first moment I saw him…why it is hardly a surprise that he would…um…well nevermind."

"Wait…how do you know anything about how things turned out. You weren't around. And I never said anything about Andrew being a danger."

Grimacing slightly as if he realized he had said too much, Erik turned his gaze to the floor as he struggled to answer. "Well…why else would she show up here? She had to have a good reason, like running away from someone."

"Uh-huuh…" Conner mouthed suspiciously not entirely convinced by Erik's lame answer. "Come on…stop being an ass," he said, changing the subject. "Tell me when she said she loved Andrew."

Giving into Conner's dogged questioning, Erik slumped back against the wall. "I believe they were talking about Aria's future…and some other idiocy about Lord Donovan being more amiable towards me," he stated tiredly.

Slapping a hand to his face in disbelief Conner shook his head. "God, Erik. You really don't know anything about women, do you?"

Temper returning to the masked man's gaze, Erik swept a foot out in an attempt to land a kick against the redhead's right foot. "As limited as my knowledge may be in your eyes, sir, I am not an idiot. When someone says they love another person it always means that…"

"In this case it meant that she was grateful for his assistance and was happy that he was finally going to treat you better. She didn't mean it in the way you are thinking. Those words CAN mean more than one thing, Erik. Brielle was just happy because she was so worried about Aria and about you back then. It bothered her that Andrew didn't treat you like an equal…because she cared so much for your welfare."

Opening his mouth to reply Erik shut it again as the full implication of those words sank into his brain. "No…no…that isn't right…" he began lamely, as a dark horrified expression began to sweep over his face. Conner watched as Erik dropped his eyes to the floor, he could almost see the wheels in the masked man's mind churning.

"Is that the only reason you left?" the redhead asked quietly, sensing the time for rough treatment was over.

Nodding silently, Erik couldn't seem to find his voice for several moments. "I thought that…I felt that she had betrayed me somehow…that maybe she was just using me to make her true love jealous…I…"

"You should have known better," Conner sighed. "Why would she have done that…why would she have bothered with such an elaborate farce to make a man she had refused to marry jealous? Think…you are a smart man…it doesn't make sense!"

"No, you are wrong. It makes sense…I wouldn't have left without reason…I wouldn't have given up everything just because…because…" he continued to argue, desperate to hold onto the belief and anger that had sustained him through the last year of solitude. "You are just trying to confuse me…"

"Don't try and comfort yourself with that," Conner clipped, a little more harshly than he had originally intended. "Think…just think for a moment…I am right that what you are saying makes no sense at all…and I think you know that. Maybe you have known it all along…but it was the only thing you had. Come on…you know that Brielle is the last person in the world who would purposely harm someone she cared about…you know that."

"No…my god…" Erik whispered hoarsely. "It doesn't make any sense does it? I don't know why I couldn't see it before. I was just so angry, it blinded me. Even months later I couldn't see past my anger. All I could remember was that last night, nothing else."

"Sometimes people are so busy staring at the closed door before them that they do not notice the open window a few feet away," Conner stated philosophically, suddenly feeling terrible about the broken, anguished light clouding Erik's gaze. He had not expected his information to disturb the other man as much as it did. And as he watched Erik continue to mull over everything that had been said, Conner could see the weight of his new insight bearing down upon his shoulders.

"What is wrong with me?" the masked man whispered to himself as a stark, wasted shadow emptied into his face. "I left her behind…and delivered her into the hands of a monster…I let all those terrible things happen…" Erik eyes snapped up to meet Conner's as the masked man raised both hands to cover his gaping mouth; looking as if his entire reality were being pulled down about his ears.

"I think I have made a terrible mistake!" he moaned through his hands; his eyes glittering over-bright over the top of his fingers.


	45. An Unlikely Savior

**Hey there everyone! Getting this chapter to you all a little early! You can thank Terpsichore314 for that. She plowed through this chapter like a pro and got it back to me in record time. She is wonderful what can I say?**

**Once again another huge thanks to all my reviewers. You guys are so great I can't even put it into words. Oh and I really liked hearing from those of you who were reviewing for the first time. Thanks! But anyway that is all I have to say…enjoy the chapter!**

Chapter 45: An Unlikely Savior

Sitting back on her haunches, Brielle swiped a hand across her forehead. Surveying the newly-scrubbed floor before her, she gave a satisfied, if tired, smile as she picked up the grubby scrub brush and climbed to her feet. Arching her back, Brielle stretched out the bunched-up muscles in her arms and shoulders. Smoothing out her skirts, she turned and walked over to the nearly empty bucket sitting a few feet away. Tossing the brush into the bucket, she sighed as she glared down at the pitiful water level remaining in the container.

"Damn, I was sure one bucket would be enough to finish this room." Looking off to one side, Brielle mentally tallied how long it would take to march down a floor to where the nearest water tap was. Finding no other alternative, the Irish woman bent and snatched up the bucket handle, carrying it with her out into the hallway. _At least I can visit with Conner and Aria on the way. See that he isn't turning her into a wild child…hopefully they haven't set anything on fire, yet._

Stopping out in the hall, Brielle paused for a moment, suddenly remembering that she had left the bottle of soap behind. With a sigh she set the bucket down and hurried back to the dusty dressing room; spotting the bottle immediately, she stepped around the wet sections on the floor and plucked the bottle off the floor. Stuffing her small allotment of soap into the pocket on the front of her apron, Brielle hummed to herself as she strolled back out into the hall. Bending to retrieve the bucket, she snatched her fingers away from the handle with a gasp.

"What the hell?" Bunching the material of her apron in her hand, Brielle stared, baffled, down at the full bucket of water at her feet. Quickly glancing up and down the hallway, she raised a hand to her head in confusion.

"Hello?" she called out with a nervous laugh. "Is someone there? Conner, if that is you trying to be sneaky I will box your ears!" When no reply came, the laughter faded from her gaze and she began to worry her bottom lip between her teeth. "All right…starting to feel a little worried now."

Trying to ignore the anxiety working its way into her consciousness, Brielle picked up the bucket and moved back into the room she had been in before. The thought occurred to her that this strange incident could be attributed to a number of factors; but only one of which sent shivers down her spine. Though it was possible that Conner was playing a joke on her, it was just as likely that the Opera's resident ghost had decided to mess around with her mind. She wasn't a fool; she knew that all the strange noises which had plagued her the first weeks of her employment at the Opera could directly be laid at Erik's feet. And he had plainly stated that if she chose to stay she would be a target of further mischief. Trying not to allow this scenario to work her nerves to the breaking point, Brielle took a calming breath and got back to work. _I just won't react. That is the best plan. I will just finish up in here and be on my way. _

Bending down, Brielle once again set her brush to the floor with slightly trembling hands. Over the last several days she had made it a point to never work on her own for this very reason; she had been afraid that something strange would happen. This evening was the first time she had braved working alone, but strangely enough the bucket was not the first unexplainable occurrence to happen to her. Hair-raising noises and malicious little tricks had bombarded her the first several days after Conner's arrival, leaving her shaken.

But about a week later Brielle began to notice a change in the 'tricks' played upon her. Instead of the frightening noises she had come to expect, Erik's interference had turned more to making objects appear and disappear, something which Brielle halfway embraced. The day before several of the other cleaning ladies had found it funny to pester her about how she knew that the sandbag would fall before it did; it had not taken long for the questions to turn to accusations and name calling. They had shut their mouths awfully fast when they returned to their rooms only to find every thing but their beds missing. Since then they had thankfully decided to avoid her; thankful, no doubt, that they had been able to find their possessions scattered throughout the Opera and not permanently gone.

Though his new antics were confusing they were by far less frightening; and if Brielle didn't know better she would have said everything that had happened lately was more helpful than irritating. _But I do know better. Just because filling my bucket with water is helpful to me he most likely did it just to confuse me. It all still seems so unreal though…like a bad dream. At first I halfway expected him to try and murder me in my bed…he just looked so angry when I last saw him…but even now…after everything…I still cannot burn it into my brain that he is a murderer…that he would hurt me. Every time I try and convince myself of that fact, all I can see in my mind was how he ran out onto the ice to drag Aria from the pond, or how shy his smiles were when we were first starting to know each other. _

Stiffening at the flood of happy memories, Brielle pressed her mouth into a firm line, refusing to allow herself to fall back into the deception. Surveying the room to distract herself, Brielle realized that at some point during her musings she must have finished the floor. With a relieved smile she climbed to her feet, gathered all of her cleaning supplies, and hurried out the door.

Quickly making her way through the twisting corridors and the jungles of discarded props, Brielle stored away her brush and bucket back in their proper closet. Reaching behind her back to remove her soiled apron, Brielle set off toward the front of the theater, hoping to catch her brother and daughter wandering somewhere near the stage. As she neared the area directly behind the stage, the Irish woman could faintly hear the familiar ring of Aria's childish laughter.

Following the sound, Brielle came out from stage left. Spotting Conner lounging casually against a large plaster elephant just a few feet in front of her, the Irish woman quieted her steps; creeping up behind where he stood watching the stage she reached forward and tickled him just below the ribs. Startled by the unexpected action, the redhead visibly jumped, stumbling away from his attacker before he realized it was only his sister.

"Brielle! By God you startled me…" he said, huffing slightly.

At his words, the two figures upon the stage stopped cavorting around and turned to look over at them. Smiling smugly, as if she had accomplished some great feat, Brielle felt the anxiety of being on her own melt away. "Ah, don't lie. You would have screamed like a girl if you hadn't recognized me right off."

Looking indignant Conner straightened his jacket dramatically, the barest hint of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Oh really? Well you just wait till I catch you unawares. We will see who screams then."

"M-Momma," Aria squealed from the middle of the stage. "Look h-here! S-see w-what Meg b-brought me!"

With a smile Brielle brought her eyes up from sparring with her brother to glance over at where Aria was twirling next to Meg. The little girl was jumping about in a miniature copy of Meg's practice uniform with shortened white shirts and a blue ribbon about her waist. Laughing when Aria executed a clumsy series of ecstatic jumps, Brielle clapped her hands together as she hurried out onto the stage.

"Bravo! You are on your way to being one of the best dancers here!" the Irish woman chuckled as she came up to lay a hand on Aria's dark head. "Meg, where in the world did you get that outfit? It is absolutely darling!"

"I asked one of the ladies in the costume department to put it together," Meg said affectionately as she bent and retied the blue bow around Aria's squirming waist. "They had extra material and were happy to do it. The whole staff is rather taken with this little hellion."

Laughing at Meg's comment, Aria scampered away, throwing her arms up into the air and skipping around in a tight circle. "I am the b-best!" she screeched before falling over onto her bottom.

Crossing her arms loosely over her abdomen, Brielle watched her daughter's performance with light, amused eyes. "It is good to hear her carry on like that again. Everything has been so serious lately that I was worried…"

"And it is good to see you smile once in awhile as well," Conner cut in as he sauntered across the stage to join the two women. "Though I have to admit I am a little jealous of all of the fun that little outfit is causing. Makes a man sort of feel left out when all the pretty girls in the room are having fun on their own," he said with all seriousness though the glint in his eye gave his joke away.

Meg opened her mouth to reply to that but shut it again with a blush. Obviously being included in Conner's grouping of pretty girls had robbed her of what she was about to say. Brielle uncrossed her arms with interest at her friend's reaction, looking back and forth between the petite blonde and her brother with hooded, considering eyes. _Strange I didn't notice it before…how odd they both are acting. _

Finally recovering herself, Meg shot a glare Conner's way, flicking a lock of her hair back over her shoulder. "I doubt very much that you have ever been lacking in amusement in your entire life, sir."

At this Conner's ginger eyebrows soared up, wrinkling his brow in surprise. "Then I am afraid you have caught me in a lie. For I cannot deny that."

Pursing her lips Meg raised her chin slightly. "I find that there is often more to life than simply seeking out one pleasure after another," the blonde stated coolly, her wide doe-like eyes carefully monitoring Conner's reaction.

A slow, roguish smile tugged first at one corner of his mouth and then the other. "Do you think so?" he asked in such a way that made Meg start and step back half a step. "Then I don't suppose you have ever had a proper night out on the town. Perhaps you would think differently if you had."

Spotting the outrage flicking across Meg's face, Brielle quickly cut in. Laying a hand on her brother's chest, she sent him a warning look as Meg whirled about and stalked off toward where Aria was once again picking herself off the floor. The Irish woman had long been aware of her brother's free-spirited lifestyle and his skirt-chasing ways; there had been many a time when she had affectionately called him a cad, or worse. But somehow seeing him shamelessly flirt with one of her friends was different, the sisterly warmth she had formerly looked on his behavior dimmed slightly. Meg was not as loose with her affections as most of the other dancers were; she was more a dreamer than anything else. Brielle didn't want to see Meg get caught up in Conner's obvious charm, and later be hurt by it.

Without missing a beat, Conner turned his eyes to Brielle, his entire expression transforming to brotherly warmth. "Forgive me…I forgot to ask you how work went today."

Not trusting his easy transition as anything other than a distraction, Brielle slowly lowered her hand to her side. "Everything went well. I finished a little early. Most of the worst areas within the Opera have already been cleaned at least once so the work isn't as hard as it was once." Pausing there, Brielle glanced off to the side to see that Aria was still twirling at a safe distance across the stage. "Though I have to ask you something…did you happen to go down the second floor hall on the east side?"

"No, I have been here the whole time," Conner replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, the oddest thing happened…I set my bucket out in the hall for a moment…my empty bucket…and when I came back to it only a few minutes later, it was full again. At first I thought it might be you being an idiot like usual…but…"

"But now that you know I have been here…do you think it was someone else?" he asked carefully, the smile falling from his face as his eyes flickered off to one side.

"Yes, I do and so do you. Who is the only other person in this place who would think it was funny to do something like that? To try and drive me crazy?" she asked, her indignation beginning to show as she planted her hands on her hips.

Fiddling idly with one of the brass buttons on his waistcoat, Conner shrugged his shoulders. He didn't appear in the least concerned or surprised by her story. "Perhaps you are wrong about that. Filling an empty bucket doesn't sound all that malicious to me. It sounds more helpful than anything else…just like that thing that happened to those blasted women who were bothering you yesterday. What if this is all a sort of peace offering?"

A moment passed as Brielle blinked blankly over at her brother, her mouth gaping open in shock over his words. Shutting her mouth with a click, she leaned forward and took a hold of Conner's elbow, forcing him to meet her gaze. "What are you talking about? Peace offering? That is ridiculous!"

"Why is that so farfetched? It is possible…maybe time has mended whatever rift there was between you. You know he was never that good at apologies."

Releasing her hold on Conner's arm, Brielle took a hasty step back. "I am not the one that started all of this. He wouldn't just up and decide to change for no reason. Having me here is a thorn in his side because I know his secret…I know why he is here. You don't know everything, Conner…I never told you everything."

His interest caught, Conner raised one eyebrow in inquiry. "Oh? And what didn't you tell me?"

"I…well…" Realizing her mistake almost immediately, Brielle raised a hand to cover her treacherous mouth. Still she found it impossible to say out loud the full extent of Erik's deception. _I told Conner that he changed…that he wasn't the man we had thought he was. That should be enough to keep him from seeking Erik out. He doesn't need to know…no one else needs to know. _"Never mind. It doesn't really matter. Shouldn't you be heading off to bed? I worry that you don't get enough sleep because you stay up half the night with me."

Frowning at the sudden change of subject, Conner raised a hand and jerked the black ribbon holding his hair from his face free of his head. Twining the ribbon through his fingers he sighed and smiled. "Ah now, Bri…you should know better than that. If I wasn't here with you, I would be out roaming the Paris nightlife. I am just staying out of trouble is all…not losing sleep."

Shaking her head, Brielle allowed herself to relax slightly. _He didn't mean anything by making that weird suggestion…he only wants to think the best of Erik…they were friends after all._ "Yeah right…like anyone could keep YOU out of trouble."

Laughing at that, Conner leaned forward and placed a kiss on Brielle's forehead. "Aww, now, is that any way to talk? I can think of several people who ruin all my fun by keeping me out of trouble," he said quietly, his eyes shifting for a moment to focus over his sister's head where Aria and Meg were laughing across the stage.

"Well, count yourself lucky that any of us put up with your antics," Brielle replied, missing the uncharacteristic confusion clouding her brother's grin.

"Bri, you are Meg's friend…do you think that…that…"

"That what?"

Clearing his throat, Conner shook his head, finally dropping his eyes back to his sister's face. "Oh, nothing…Do you suppose the kitchens are locked up at this hour? I suddenly feel very hungry. Would you like to go and break into the food storages with me?"

"What? Don't be silly. If the cooks catch you stealing their food they will cut you to pieces."

"So that is a no, then?" he asked playfully as he reached up and retied the ribbon in his hair. "Too bad…I will just have to go myself then. If you don't see me by tomorrow, send a search party," he said with a wave as he turned and set off toward one of the wings.

Spotting Conner leaving the stage, Meg stopped playing with Aria, straightening slowly. Taking the child by the hand, the blonde came rushing across the stage to stand next to Brielle. "Where is he going in such a hurry?" she asked with feigned indifference.

"He said something about breaking into the kitchens to get something to eat," Brielle murmured, frowning when she caught Aria muffling a yawn behind one hand. "But I think we have all had a bit too much excitement for one day. Aria, I think it is about time you went to bed."

As Brielle bent to scoop up her protesting four-year-old, Meg looked off toward where Conner had disappeared into the darkness. "I don't mean to be rude…but I was just wondering if your brother has always been such a…well…a flirt, or if it is just a new development? One would think that a man of his age would have been married by now."

Balancing Aria on her hip, Brielle sent Meg a searching look. "No, he has always been as he is now."

"Don't you worry about him? How he charms anything in a skirt?" Meg blurted before covering her mouth in shock. "Oh! I am sorry, you don't have to answer that! I don't know what is wrong with me! Please don't be offended…I didn't mean anything by that."

Laughing now, Brielle shook her head. "No, I am not offended. I know what he is like…how he acts." Pausing for a moment, the Irish woman worried over the aghast blush staining Meg's face a bright red. "Though I don't think he means it to be anything personal. The way he acts, that is. It is more of a way of keeping people at a distance than anything. Don't worry about it too much. If he is bothering you, I can talk to him about it."

"Oh no…he would know we had been talking about it then!" Meg squeaked. "It isn't a problem; I have dealt with worse than him before. I was just curious is all. Pretend I never even mentioned it," she finished hurriedly with a shake of her head.

"All right…consider it forgotten," Brielle replied as she slowly headed toward one of the wings. With Meg following upon her heels, the pair left the stage behind, heading back toward the dormitories. After walking for several minutes in silence, Brielle turned to Meg with a nervous smile, needing to fill the echoing quiet. "How have the practices with Carlotta and Maryann been coming? I hear terrible things about them, but surely they cannot be that bad."

Grimacing, Meg opened her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted by a craggy voice speaking up from behind them. "I am afraid you will be finding out that for yourself from now on." Yelping, both Brielle and Meg nearly jumped out of their skins as they whirled about to find Madame Dubois standing several feet behind them.

Observing their fright with one raised eyebrow, Madame Dubois pushed her glasses further up her nose with one knobby finger. "Did I frighten you? Forgive me…" Pausing after her half-hearted apology, the older woman spotted Aria resting against Brielle's shoulder. As her gaze took in the child's miniature ballerina costume, her face went under a rather odd transformation. The grim, crotchety woman smiled.

Coming forward, Madame Dubois pressed her hands together as she grinned over at Aria. "So you are a dancer now? My word…you are cute as a button!" she cooed.

Shooting Meg a disbelieving look, Brielle smiled hesitantly. "The costuming department made it for her. She likes watching the dance practices during the day."

Sobering at Brielle's words, Madame Dubois's smile faded from her wrinkly face. "Yes, well, I don't have time to stand around all day chatting. I do have something I need to tell you."

"Yes?"

"Now that the Opera is getting closer to reopening, it has become apparent that we are in need of a small daytime cleaning staff. I have decided that you will be a part of this staff, seeing as you are one of the few presentable women I have in my employ." Stopping there, the older woman pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket. After coughing into it for a few moments she stuffed it back in its place. "That is all I had to say…except that I suggest you keep on the straight and narrow if you want to keep this new position. It is a privilege to be allowed to wander about during the daytime hours, and I will not hesitate to pull you back onto the night shift if you cause trouble!" With that said, the stooped woman turned and hobbled off back in the direction she had come.

The two women waited until Madame Dubois's shambling form had disappeared around a corner before bursting into laughter. "What was that all about?" Meg asked between giggles. "I have lived here all my life and I don't think I have ever seen that woman smile before!"

"I guess she must secretly like children…" Brielle murmured as she looked down at Aria. "Because she certainly has never smiled like that at me!"

Raising her head from her mother's shoulder, Aria stuck her thumb into her mouth. "She is a n-nice l-lady, d-deep down," the child stated. "She j-just forgets how t-to be friendly is a-all."

Astonished by this statement, Brielle could only shake her head. "Well, then you know something I do not. Perhaps she will remember to be nicer more often with you running around." Something about that statement pleased Aria for the child smiled around her thumb as she laid her head back against her mother's shoulder.

"It is exciting that you get to work during the day though," Meg said, as they neared the hallway where the different dormitories were. "You will get to see everyone practicing. And we could eat dinner together sometimes. Oh! And I can introduce you to some of the other girls…the nice ones that is…" Clapping her hands together the blonde continued to recite her plans until they reached the door to her room. "Well, I guess I will see you tomorrow then!" she said with a wave as she quietly opened her door and disappeared within.

Shaking her head at the younger girl's enthusiasm, Brielle strolled further down the hall where her own room was located. _Well, at least I won't have to worry so much about working on my own. It won't be so frightening during the day. He won't be able to run about without being seen. This is good…finally I won't have to constantly be looking over my shoulder…this is good._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Leaning tiredly against the broom in her hand, Brielle subtly lifted one foot off the ground, stretching her sore muscles by curling her toes within her scuffed work boots. Turning her head, she hid a yawn behind a hand as her eyes searched the area around her for the distinctly stooped figure of her watchful employer. A few yards away onstage, Carlotta was having difficulty pronouncing one of the words in her lines. Wincing at the discordant starts and stops of the singer's speech, Brielle found herself feeling slightly bad for the other woman; she knew how hard it was to try and learn a new language and speak it properly. That is, she felt bad for her up until the moment Carlotta stomped her foot and screamed several expletives in Italian.

Shifting from foot to foot, Brielle turned her eyes from the stage looking for something else to grab her interest. Her first day working on her new assignment had quickly lost its appeal when she had been told to simply stand in one of the wings in order to wait for a mess to be made. After standing for several hours doing nothing of worth, the boredom had quickly descended upon her. Even with Carlotta's amusing tirades to punctuate the monotony of the chorus's practice, Brielle found her mind drifting. _At least I could watch the ballet corps while they were practicing, but I think Madame Giry got tired of all of the interruptions. It only took her an hour to move the dance practice to one of the other rooms. Too bad too…that was the only thing keeping me awake. I almost wish someone would break something so I could clean it up._

Rubbing at her eyes, the Irish woman struggled to stay alert as Carlotta continued to rant in a mixture of Italian and French that hardly made any sense in either language. Watching the diva prance back and forth, Brielle noticed a small group of people move out onto the stage directly across from where she stood. Perking up at the prospect of some sort of diversion, she squinted through the crowds of people between her and the newcomers. Monsieur Andre's distinctive white crop of hair bobbed excitedly next to a taller companion Brielle recognized as Monsieur Firmin and one other man, whom she couldn't quiet make out. _What in the world are the managers doing down here? Usually they both stay up in their offices._

With vague interest, Brielle smiled as she tilted her head to the side, trying to see who the third man was that the managers had brought with them. _Must be another potential patron…they sure are laying it thick for this one; he must be terribly rich._ All activity upon the stage stilled as more and more people became aware that they were being observed. Carlotta's loud shouts immediately fell silent when the Italian woman turned her head toward the men and pasted a bright smile on her handsome face. Raising a hand dramatically, Carlotta strutted over to where the men stood, crooning and preening as Firmin introduced her.

"What in the world is going on over there?" A familiar voice asked from just behind where Brielle stood.

Turning to look back at her brother, Brielle flashed him a quick smile, glad he had chosen to drop by, even though technically they shouldn't be seen together for long. "I think they have found another rich aristocrat to try and con into giving them money. Though I must say I am shocked to see you…I didn't think you would bother stirring yourself into coming onstage since the orchestra isn't practicing today."

Wrinkling his nose at her surprised tone, Conner shrugged his shoulders and stepped past her. "I am hurt, Bri, that you think so lowly of me. I had to stop by and see if you were bored to tears yet. But, since obviously you don't care about my visit, I will just have to go and talk with someone else. Maybe I can lower and debase myself to whoever that rich man is over there…that sounds like fun."

Leaving Brielle's side without a second glance, Conner strode across the stage toward where the crowd of chorus members were gathered. The Irish woman watched him go with a shake of her head. _Well at least that broke up the boredom some…though really he shouldn't talk to me too often during the day. People will think it odd for the lead violinist to be chatting with one of the cleaning staff._

With a smile, Brielle watched her brother's wild red head easily move amongst the crowd until it stopped suddenly, right before where the managers were standing. A second or two passed and she was just about ready to turn her attention to something else when a visible stir went through the crowd separating her from her brother and the managers. A loud curse drifted through the air followed by a crash, as Conner and the mystery man exchanged a few heated words. Concerned by this development, Brielle watched Conner turn sharply and push his way through the chorus members standing near him with none of the finesse he normally employed.

Sensing something was wrong, Brielle picked up her broom and started across the stage. Conner burst through the edge of the crowd, his face white as bone, just as Brielle was stepping clear of the wings. He made a wild halting motion with his hands as he drew nearer her, though strangely enough he turned his head so he wasn't looking directly at her. Not understanding what had suddenly gotten into him, Brielle stopped where she was, frowning in concentration at Conner.

"Conner," Brielle murmured hurriedly as her brother drew nearer. "What is the…" Shaking his head, the redhead finally brought his eyes up to meet hers, mouthing one word over and over. _Run…run…_ Shutting her mouth with a click, a wave of terror swept through Brielle's body, making her fall back a step as she darted a fearful look to the men now racing after Conner across the stage.

Frozen where she stood, Brielle watched as Andre and Firmin chased after Conner, obviously pleading with him to return, and trailing casually behind them was a good looking, well dressed, black-eyed man. Looking darkly pleased with the ruckus he had caused, Andrew tapped his silver-headed walking stick against one clean-shaven cheek, following the frantic managers at a distance. Covering her mouth in order to muffle the scream building there, Brielle turned her eyes away from the image of her former fiancé strolling across the stage toward her. _He is here…oh my god…what do I do? Maybe he hasn't seen me…I will just sneak off…right now he is just looking at Conner…_

Throwing Conner a sick, horrified glance, Brielle turned on her heel and headed back in the direction she had come. It was all she could do to keep herself from running. She hadn't gotten more than ten feet when Andre's highly strung voice rang through the air, stopping her in mid stride.

"Stop, you! Excuse me! There is something which needs to be taken care of on the other side of the stage…quickly now go and clean it up!" The man shouted, all hints of politeness having flown out the window as Firmin continued to call out to Conner.

Panic-stricken, Brielle cast about wildly in her mind for any ideas on what to do. She could not turn around and do as Andre asked for surely Andrew would catch sight of her face. But she also could not simply run off and draw so much attention to herself. Visibly shaking, Brielle clenched her fists around her broom handle, her terror leaping up to completely blot out all rational thought from her mind.

Conner chose that moment to round on the managers. "I will not work with that man!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, for all the world sounding just like Carlotta in the volume and tone of his voice. "I refuse! Absolutely not! The mere sight of him makes me ill!"

Completely distracted by this violent display, Andre forgot about the dark-haired cleaning woman he had been shouting at, and concentrated all of his attention on Conner instead. "Surely you do not mean that. Monsieur Donovan is one of the leading Englishmen in…"

"Yes!" Firmin interrupted before Andre could finish. "Lord Donovan has offered a very gracious budget to the Opera house. We all should be honored to be…"

"Oh it is all right." A snowdrift-cold voice said, efficiently cutting through every other sound upon the stage. "I have always been aware of what Mr. Sinclair thinks of me. No need to try and change his mind." There was a pause as Andrew came to stand a few feet from where Conner stood, tensed. "Though I have to say how glad I am to see you again Conner. I had been told you were working here now, which I thought rather odd…considering you are a soloist. But I suppose it is your right to branch out. Tell me…how has Brielle been lately? I trust you have heard from her."

A tense moment followed when Brielle was sure Conner would physically attack the young lord. "I am sorry to disappoint you…but I have not heard from my sister in months. We had a falling out before Christmas…as you know."

Shaken by the conversation happening only a few feet behind her, Brielle clumsily started away from the argument. Her legs barely held her as she slowly made her way into the relative safety of the wings. The broom dropping from her numb fingers with a clatter, she rounded a corner and broke into a staggering run down the hallway. With her breath burning in and out of her lungs, Brielle came to a stop, one hand shooting out to support her trembling body against the wall. Taking a few quick breaths, the Irish woman thanked her lucky stars that she had not been recognized.

_I can't believe that just happened…my god…oh my god…It would have been so easy for him to look across and see me. I was just standing there like an idiot! Everything I have worked for could have been taken away again…if he had just looked up and recognized me!_ Sickened by the thought, Brielle sank to the floor, both hands coming up to cover her ashy face. Unexpectedly she felt the urge to laugh bubble up around the churning waves of fear within her. Giggling nervously, she shook her head in disbelief. _I must be loosing my mind…what am I laughing for?_

Sitting on the floor, trying to muffle her own relieved laughter, Brielle leaned her head back against the wall behind her. _Well that is the luck of the Irish for you…though things are going to be different from now on…especially if Andrew is going to be…_Pausing in mid thought, Brielle raised her head from the wall with a start. The sound of approaching male voices sliced through her relief like a knife, and the voices were getting closer. Stilling, Brielle actively listened to the sounds, trying not to let herself panic when she recognized Andre and Firmin's distinctly fawning tones.

Jumping to her feet, Brielle hurried down the long hallway, away from the voices, only to find the men inadvertently following her movements. Rounding a corner, Brielle chanced a look back the way she had come. Seeing the two managers leading Andrew on their grand tour of the Opera, the Irish woman ducked back out of view. _The luck of the Irish indeed! What a bunch of malarkey! I am the most unlucky woman in the world. Blast!_

Picking up her skirts, Brielle dashed off down another hall just as the men came casually around the corner where she had been standing. Trying to stay as calm as possible, the Irish woman kept ahead of the men with relative ease, but no matter where she turned the voices always seemed to follow her without fail. With a quick look over her shoulder, Brielle skidded around another corner. Waiting to see if the small group was still on her tail, the Irish woman waited a moment at the lip of the hallway. When she caught sight of the group off in the distance she turned, intending to run off again, but stopped in her tracks when she was met with a dead end.

Staring with disbelief at the blank wall before her, Brielle let out a series of curses. "This cannot be happening!" Moving to the first of two doors within the hall, the Irish woman tried the knob. Finding it locked, she moved to the other door only to discover that it was also firmly shut.

Losing what remained of her calm, Brielle ran back to the mouth of the hallway, checking on the men's progress. Seeing that they were coming steadily towards her, she returned to try the locked doors again. Running out of options, Brielle backed up until she felt the far wall pressing against her body. _Maybe they won't pass this way…just wait…maybe they will turn back. _Listening intently Brielle waited, hoping to hear the voices and footsteps grow dimmer. With a silent curse she heard the men draw ever closer.

Paralyzed where she stood, Brielle was helpless to do anything to hide herself. Wrapping her arms protectively about her waist she could only wait and listen as the man who could ruin her life casually approached where she stood. With each footstep she could feel the air freeze within her body, leaving her breathless, turning her blood to ice.

"Oh god…oh god…" she chanted quietly, as she listened to the men converse politely about one aspect of the décor or another.

Just as the pressure built until Brielle was sure her heart would burst, she heard a strange whooshing sound from behind her. Bafflement found its way through the terror, and she turned with a start to look back towards the odd sound. Blinking in disbelief, Brielle gaped at the small door where moments ago only wall had been. From out of the blackness within the opening a gloved hand appeared, beckoning Brielle with the crook of one finger.

As if in a dream, the Irish woman dragged her eyes from that hand, up along the well-toned arm it was attached to, all the way to a man's broad shoulder. Without having to look any further, Brielle knew exactly who was standing before her. She could feel the force of his presence like a fist about her heart. Shying back a step she finally brought her eyes up to Erik's familiar half-masked face. Expecting to find some form of anger or malice printed across his features Brielle was shocked to find a glittering earnestness in his eyes.

"Brielle," he murmured softly, the tone of his voice driving a splinter of calm through the terror veiling her mind. "Come…come to me…quickly."

Feeling strangely comforted by the gentle quality to his voice, Brielle felt her heart settle down into a normal rhythm. _I should be afraid…he threatened to do terrible things to me if I stayed…but…I can't find the fear…I…_Over her shoulder she could hear the managers nearly at the lip of the hallway, but she could not tear her eyes away from Erik's gaze. Raising her hand, knowing she had no other choice, she hesitantly placed it into Erik's waiting palm.

His long fine-boned fingers closed about hers and in one quick motion he pulled Brielle forward, drawing her silently into the waiting shadows beyond the secret door. The panel slid shut behind her with a soft whooshing sound just as Andrew and the two managers passed the lip of the hallway. Not noticing anything out of the norm the men continued on without even a moment of hesitation.


	46. Finding Forgiveness

**Hey, hey, hey! I hope everyone had a great holiday on Sunday! I know I sure did. I always love spending time with my crazy family! (Even if my dad did set fire to the baked apples I was making…grrr.) **

**I would like to give a quick shout out to IHeartPOTO my totally cool artist friend! She did a fun pic of Brielle for me on Christmas which I totally loved. I am only sorry that my poor computer skills prevent me from allowing all of you to see the pics she does for me. But if any of you are interested in seeing some of her other work you can go to one or both of her websites. **

**www. freewebs. com/artfanatic07/index. htm her personal website. **

**(by the way I added a space after every period so when you copy and paste you will have to undo that to get it to work)**

allisonsmith. deviantart. com/ **is also another one of her sites.**

**Oh and I have decided to stop being lazy and actually put the new review reply option to use. So to the select few of you who do review regularly…or even just once…feel free to ask questions or make suggestions in your reviews along with your comments. I would be happy to discuss things with you. And thanks to all of the nice reviews you all sent for the last chapter! I loved each and every one of them! **

**And of course another huge thanks to my beta terpsichore314. She never fails to keep my chapters on track. But anyway enjoy the chapter! **

Chapter 46: Finding Forgiveness

With a deft movement, Erik flicked a hidden lever to his right and the secret panel slid back into place with a soft click. Complete darkness wrapped around them like the warmth of an old quilt on a winter's day, huddling intimately close, blotting out all light. A strange expectant silence fell between him and Brielle as they stood perfectly still, both listening to the voices on the other side of the panel crescendo then fade away. He could feel her holding her breath as they waited, then let it out in a long shaky sigh after the danger outside had passed. Somehow the sound of her soft breathing in the darkness so nearby was unnerving. It felt different than he thought it would; it felt dangerous. At this realization, his heart rate picked up speed, thundering in his ears until he was sure she could hear it over the hush between them.

Shaking his head to rid himself of these odd, clinging thoughts, Erik turned his eyes away from where he knew she stood, less than a foot away from him. Looking off into the shadows, he tightened his fingers around hers and wordlessly took a step further into the corridor. A hesitant pull met his sudden movement but only a moment passed before he felt Brielle take a step to follow his forward motion. Her wary trust in him sent an electrifying jolt of hope scoring through his blood. _Maybe Conner was correct. Maybe the damage is not irreparable._

It wasn't until that very moment that Erik allowed such a possibility to enter his brain. A week ago, when Conner had enlightened him to the full extent of his misunderstanding, the anger Erik had been cultivating dropped away, leaving a gaping hole in his soul, and in its wake a fear like nothing he had ever felt before, wrapping druglike about his thoughts. With nothing but endless amounts of time in his hands since that day, Erik had tormented himself over his own actions, not believing that this time it had been entirely his own stupidity which had snatched another glimpse of happiness away from him. What had happened was entirely his fault, and he knew that it would take a miracle for another human being, even one as patient as Brielle, to forgive him. The only problem was that he had long since stopped believing in miracles, especially where his own life was concerned.

_How could I have been so wrong? Could it have been my anger alone which blinded me or was I born missing something vital, was I born without the capacity to be happy? It is so obvious now…how could I have forgotten a thousand acts of kindness after one moment of doubt? I can remember it all now; it is painfully clear. I can still see her smiling shyly at me when I expressed interest in her research…or the way she laughed when I dipped her the time she taught me to dance. And Aria…I forgot her as well…how could I have left without even saying goodbye? I was her teacher…she relied on me…she didn't deserve to be abandoned. I must really be a monster._

And so like a coward he could not bring himself to face the accusation he knew would be in Brielle's eyes, so for the past week he had flitted about in the shadows, watching, waiting for the courage it would take to talk to her, too unsure to make the first move. Small opportunities, such as filling an empty bucket or retrieving some lost item, had presented themselves almost every day, giving him a convenient alternative to facing her outright and the chance to repent for the crimes he had previously committed against her. And he had been content to allow that to be the full extent of their contact with one another, having no other idea as to how to deal with the situation, but earlier that morning when he had overheard the name of the new patron everything had changed.

He had been moving through a corridor, which happened to run parallel with Andre's office, when a chillingly familiar voice had drifted through the wall. It had not taken long, listening in on the conversation between the young lord Donovan and the two managers to figure out what was happening. And it likewise hadn't taken long for him to realize that if Andrew should happen upon Brielle or Aria something truly terrible could happen.

Images of Brielle's face as it had been when she had first arrived at the Opera, battered and stitched, had flashed before his eyes in those first moments, sending a blinding wave of fury washing through his body. Fury at the man who had put the bruises upon her face, but more so fury at himself for turning a blind eye toward her plight. Ashamed that he had ever thought she could deserve such brutal treatment, he had allowed the anger free rein for several moments, wallowing in the cleansing fire of his rage. Erik knew then that if Andrew should in any way threaten her he would have to step in. Fate, it seemed, had finally decided to force his hand.

His eyebrows drawing together in the darkness, Erik fought to free his mind of all thoughts about Andrew and what he had done, needing all of his faculties completely focused on the woman now following behind him. Moving slowly to allow for Brielle's unfamiliarity with the surroundings, Erik carefully maneuvered the corridors without the need of any light. He had traveled these dim paths often enough to have a complete map of the Opera laid out within his head. Leading the way up a gradual incline, the masked man headed far away from where Brielle would be in any danger of being spotted, or being heard. The time had come for them to speak to one another, and based upon past experiences Erik was certain Brielle would not hesitate to verbally thrash his foolishness; so he headed toward the roof, where she could scream at him until her voice gave out without the fear that someone would interrupt them.

Reaching out a hand, he pressed a concealed button causing a door to open up directly in front of them. Blinding white light streamed through the new opening along with a blast of wintry cold air. Using his free hand Erik raised the hem of his cape to momentarily shield his and Brielle's eyes from the harsh sunlight washing over them. As soon as enough time had passed to allow his eyes to adjust, he slowly stepped out the door and onto the Opera Populaire's roof, releasing Brielle's hand as he did so. Taking several quick steps out onto the light dusting of snow, Erik distanced himself from the woman still standing within the safety of the small doorway.

"Why have you brought me up here?" Brielle demanded tensely, her voice cutting through the isolated silence of the rooftop.

Looking over his shoulder, Erik internally winced at the wild, furious light burning in her eyes. "You were trying to get away from our new patron. This place is about as far as you can go without leaving the building," the masked man hedged.

At his reply Brielle's kohl-darkened eyebrows rushed together into a fierce scowl. "Don't lie to my face like that," she hissed, coming out from the shadows of the doorway. "What is the real reason? Did you think it would be funny to bring me up here and scare me a bit?"

"No, no of course not!"

"Because I have news for you, based on how the rest of my day has gone nothing you do can frighten me right now!" she barreled on, her small body beginning to shake in the cold.

Raising both hands in a conciliatory gesture, Erik turned to face Brielle fully, forcing himself to meet her burning gaze. "That is not the reason. Far from it. I in no way wished to put you on guard. I merely chose this place as our final destination so that we would have a quiet place to converse."

Surprise flickered across Brielle's face as she raised her arms to wrap about her midsection. "What in the world is there left for us to say to one another?" she asked quietly, the temper still smoldering in her eyes unable to completely veil the hurt darkening her gaze. "I daresay you said it all the last time we spoke. You hate me…I hate you. That is the end of it."

Erik opened his mouth to respond but shut it again when he registered what she had said. The tentative hope struggling to take root in his heart shied from this new assault, leaving him feeling empty inside. "You hate me?" he inquired, before he could stop himself, his voice sounding terribly hesitant even to his own ears.

Brielle stared unblinkingly at him as the winter's wind picked at her dark hair, dragging long tendrils from the confines her bun to blow across one cheek, her face set in the firm, cold lines of a marble statue. Only in her large stormy eyes, the one weakness in her defenses, could Erik see glimmerings of the emotions her face hid. The hard flinty edge to her gaze wavered, becoming uncertain at the sincerity and vulnerability of his tone. Quickly dropping her eyes from his Brielle took a deep shaky breath. "Don't do that…"

"What? Do what?" he asked, studying her face intensely as he struggled to discern what she was thinking. A slight trembling in her bottom lip finally gave away the same turmoil he had been sure he had seen in her eyes. Clenching his fists at his sides, Erik forced himself to ignore the urge to smooth that slight tremor away, for he wanted very badly to trace a thumb over the stern lines of her mouth, to take away the pain he could see etched there. _I did this to her. I was the one who hurt her, turned her smile cold as a winter sun. Funny isn't it…that it was my ignorance this time that destroyed someone else's happiness…instead of it being the other way around. _

Hunching her shoulders, Brielle pressed her lips together into a tight line, steeling herself to look up once more and meet his gaze. "What you are doing right now," she snapped, detaching one arm from about her waist to wave expressively through the air toward him. "Putting on this show. Pitching your voice in just such a manner so as to shake my resolve. Acting concerned and contrite and civil…and like your old self."

"I am not acting!" Erik blurted, amazed at the fact that she should think so.

"I don't believe you! Maybe I would have once. But from your own mouth you have admitted to your duplicity! I am not an idiot, Erik…" Brielle bit out, righteous fury once again painting her cheeks a bright pink.

Grimacing at her words, Erik cursed his own foolishness. _Why did I have to go so far as to tell her all those things?_ "I said many things to you then that are not exactly true…" he stated stiffly, his mind racing for a way to explain.

Not giving him a moment's peace, Brielle started forward a step. "You said that you were the man that everyone fears. That you are the Phantom…"

"Yes, I did…but…" Erik conceded, not liking where the conversation was going.

Barreling on, Brielle stabbed a finger toward him. "You told me that you have acted as this character for some time. By all accounts I have heard the Opera Ghost has been a plague on this place for years."

"Yes, I said that, but you haven't let me explain…I…"

"You admitted to being behind the disaster last year…that you dropped the chandelier onto a crowd of innocent people. You killed the lead tenor…you killed a stagehand…!" she continued, her voice climbing dangerously close to a scream. "Try and tell me these things aren't true…"

Shaking his head violently back and forth, Erik turned his face away from Brielle, looking off over the snow-covered city laid out below them. _What do I tell her? How do I explain…especially to her…she won't understand. I know she won't understand. Someone who holds human life in such high regard…nothing I say could ever change that. Damn it! _Raising a hand to rub over the exposed half of his face Erik whirled back around, his entire body tensing in anticipation for the scorn on Brielle's face to change to repulsion.

Some of the desperation he felt building inside of him must have leaked out into his expression, for Brielle relaxed her battle stance slightly. "I know nothing I say now can in any way alter the things I have done in my life," he stated quietly, fixing his eyes upon the snow-covered stone at his feet. "But do give me the opportunity to defend myself. The things you have heard are not exactly unbiased."

Uncrossing her arms, Brielle let out a breath. "Fine. Say what you need to."

Nodding vaguely, Erik paced nervously to the edge of the roof and back again. "I have never told another person what I am about to confide to you. Excuse me if I do not make complete sense. I am not accustomed to…to revealing…er…personal information."

Throwing a quick glance toward where Brielle stood, apparently unconvinced, Erik continued to pace, rubbing his gloved hands together. "When I was very young, perhaps around eight years old, my mother met a very nice man. After years of only having me for company it was easy for him to sweep her off her feet. I knew that I could no longer stay there…she would never be happy so long as she had to look at me over the dinner table. And so I ran away, and intelligent as I was I didn't even think to bring more than just the clothes on my back. It wasn't a surprise that I did not get far." Pausing there, Erik found his mind automatically turning back to those times. The recollection of that late night flight flashed through his head; every detail down to the cold dampness of the air upon his skin still clear within the vaults of his vast memory.

"How did you know that she would never be happy in your presence?" Brielle asked suddenly, her unexpected interruption startling Erik out of his momentary silence.

Looking back over his shoulder at her Erik felt his eyebrows raise up in surprise. "I may have been only a child. But I wasn't stupid…I knew when I wasn't wanted." Unconsciously he raised a hand to trace briefly along the outside edge of his mask. "I stumbled into a camp of gypsies. As soon as they saw me they knew that I would be of incredible use to them. They ran a freak show, you see…and I became their star performer."

Brielle made a small, almost indiscernible, sound at his words. Glancing up Erik thought that he caught a subtle change in her features. The bright angry flush staining her face was slowly draining away, leaving her features pale with dismay. Whatever she had expected to hear, this was not it. "I lived with them for about seven years before I could escape, before I found the incentive to leave them behind. The man who kept me…instead of beating me…he one day decided upon a far worse punishment. You see…he did not like women and by that time I was in my early teens so…" Clearing his throat, Erik walked over to lean back against one of the many statues dotting the rooftop. "When he attacked me, I strangled him with a nearby piece of rope. I ran from their camp…Madame Giry, who was a young ballerina at the time, helped me escape and hid me here underneath the opera. I have lived here ever since...for twenty years I have lived here…"

"So young…to have to make such a choice as that," she whispered to herself. "You were right to protect yourself." Twisting her hands in her apron, Brielle took a hesitant step forward before coming to a hasty stop. "I always wondered about where you were from…you never talked about your past when…well when you lived with me…er us…Aria, Conner and me that is," she murmured, her eyes pained as she dropped the cloth in her hands. "But I don't see how that explains anything that I mentioned."

"No, but I was getting around to that. I just wanted you to know…because you should know…because I never told you before." When Brielle merely nodded, Erik worried his bottom lip between his teeth. "You asked about what happened last year. I don't know how it happened, really. How things changed…but one day three years ago I noticed a young girl…noticed her voice really. She had amazing potential…and I took it upon myself to school her. Somehow, my love of her talent turned into obsession. She was the only contact I had with other people…I became very protective of that. When she fell in love with another young man…something inside of me shifted…I became someone I didn't recognize."

"And so you killed those people trying to hold onto a girl?" Brielle asked sharply.

"No!" he shouted, whirling from the comforting support of the cold stone statue back to face her.

"Then what? I am trying to understand what you are telling me, but all I can wonder is why you are even bothering to. What is the point?"

"I need you to understand that what I told you the last time we met wasn't completely true. I wanted to scare you away because I was foolishly still mad at you over something that turned out to be a fatal miscalculation on my part. It is true that I killed both Buquet and Piangi but both cases were out of self defense. Buquet got it into his head that it would be a good idea to try and capture the infamous Phantom. While he was trailing me up in the rafters I defended myself and he fell to his death. And Piangi was a similar instance…if he had just stayed quiet everything would have been fine. But he pulled out a gun during the final performance…and so I subdued him with…er…some rope I was carrying…but…but I hung on too long. When I let go…he wasn't moving…I didn't even realize that I had killed him until later. The chandelier…well, no one died because I rigged the thing to swing forward and onto the stage. I wasn't insane…I just needed a distraction."

"From where I was sitting at the time…it seemed far more than a distraction, I can assure you," Brielle snapped as she tucked her hands under her arms to keep them warm.

"I know…I have no excuses for my behavior," he mumbled, hanging his head.

"How convenient that every crime you have committed is so easily explained away…"

"Do you not believe me! I was telling the truth!" Erik demanded, his head coming up again with a snap.

"No," she replied simply, her expression showing signs of uncertainty. "Do you honestly expect me to just except that story when two weeks ago you showed clear signs that you are not in the least repentant for your past actions…when you dropped those sand bags onto of Carlotta's head? Was that the action of a changed man?"

Throwing his hands into the air Erik let out a curse. "I didn't do that! It is possible for a simple accident to happen in a theater! This is what always happened! If I did something or not everyone blamed me for it!"

"Yes, and based upon your infamous career I find myself disinclined to believe that," she said unsteadily, carefully picking her words in order to draw as much blood as possible. Opening her mouth to continue Brielle was interrupted when Erik raised a quieting hand.

"It doesn't matter anyway," he growled hurriedly, hurt over her disbelief. "I didn't bring you up here to tell you these things…I just needed you to know the truth so that I could…well…" Sighing raggedly, Erik hastily swept around and strode over to stand only a few feet before her. "I wanted to apologize for what I did to you. For trying to frighten you…and for leaving as I did. I left for almost the very same reason I left my mother's house. I thought you had found someone else to give your affections to…I thought that you loved Andrew…and I couldn't bear to stand by and watch…well…"

A deep silence fell between them as Brielle stared at him, obviously shocked by his clumsy apology. Slowly her eyebrows rose up and her open mouth tilted up at both corners into a high, hysterical laugh. Concerned by the hollow, unnatural tone of her unexpected cackling Erik reached out a hand to take hold of her arm but Brielle evaded his touch. Turning away from him she raised both hands to her head, the laughter morphing into a scream. Bending in half, she screamed until she couldn't force anymore air out of her lungs.

Startled by her erratic and seemingly insane behavior, Erik jerked backward a step just as she whirled upon him. "I cannot believe this! You are the most…most…" Stopping to gather her thoughts she pressed a hand against her forehead. "You are deficient sir!"

"What?" Caught off-guard, Erik responded with irritation. "Is that all you have to say? How am I deficient?" he snapped, before thinking better of it.

"You are just a child in the way you deal with people. A stupid fumbling little boy! You react to things without thought or any concern for the future. You have it in you to be kind and gentle but constantly choose to lash out, even at those who have never hurt you. And so you are deficient."

Not knowing what to say, and not trusting the temper rising up the back of his throat, Erik clamped his mouth shut. Seeing her barb miss its mark and fail to incite the masked man's temper, Brielle blew a piece of hair out of her eyes. "You thought I loved Andrew and so you decided to leave without discussing the matter with me at all?" she demanded harshly.

"Yes, well at the time I…I thought that…I know it is foolish but I thought that you were keeping me around to make him jealous," Erik blurted, his eyes widening as she froze, a small tic at the corner of one of her eyes the only warning of the explosion that was about to come.

"What did I ever do to you that would lead you to believe that I would do something like that!" she shrieked, advancing toward where Erik stood with a wild light burning in her eyes.

Backing up slowly as Brielle came at him, Erik shook his head dumbly. "No…it was nothing you did. It was because of my very limited experience that led me to that conclusion. When Christine left…I had a very dim view of people in general…when I heard you say you loved Andrew, out of context…I had nothing else to think but that…"

"You could have had faith in your friends!"

"I know…" Erik replied tiredly.

"And do you think you can just apologize for what you did and that will be the end of it? That things will just go back to the way they were?" she bit out, leaning forward to give Erik a hard shove against his chest. "Do you have any idea what you did to my family!"

Opening and closing his mouth like a grounded fish, Erik stumbled backward, nearly knocked off his feet by the force of her fury. "No…I, well…I"

"After you left Aria's speech deteriorated. She lost all the confidence you had given her. When you didn't even say goodbye to her she felt abandoned by the only man she had ever looked upon as a father! Her stuttering became so bad that she stopped talking to strangers…then she stopped talking to family members…until one day she stopped talking altogether! She didn't say a word for months, just sitting at the piano playing one piece over and over again. For the pain you caused her alone I could hate you for the rest of my life!"

A sick, churning wave of guilt crashed over Erik's heart at Brielle's words. _She didn't speak? I didn't know…god…what did I do!_ "Brielle I did not know. I didn't think that…You have to know that I would never purposely hurt Aria. You _know_ that!"

"I know nothing of the sort!" she hissed, shaking from head to toe with a violence that was barely controlled. "I knew a man named Erik who I once thought would never hurt anyone, but it seems that man never existed. You, sir, are a stranger."

"Don't say that…I am still…"

"I am not finished!" Brielle screamed, lurching forward to shove Erik back again. "I said for that alone I could hate you…but that is not all. Conner never said anything about it…but I could tell he missed arguing with you. You broke his trust. He let you play his blessed violin…something he never lets anyone do. He considered you a friend…he trusted you to look out for us when he was away. And you just left without any explanation!"

_A friend…I had a friend…Damn it...I never really thought…well I mean he was so unusual_. "Brielle…I shouldn't have…"

"Shut up…I didn't even get to what it did to me, you blasted idiot! Before you came into our home I had forgotten how to laugh…I couldn't pull myself out of the grief I felt over John…but somehow fighting with you over your strange moods and tempers brought me out of it. I opened my heart again…I felt almost as if you…as if you were a part of the family."

"Like family…" he repeated dumbly, the dark hole in his heart widening ever farther, her words reminding him of what he had had within his grasp. _A family…I never felt like a part of something before…but I was…I was a part of theirs…wasn't I…_But somehow, despite the enormity of her revelation Erik couldn't help but feel a niggling of bitter disappointment. _Yes…a part of the family like a brother…or close cousin…or…_

"At the time I couldn't have imagined what a day would be like without seeing you. I came alive when you walked into the room, and you broke my heart when you left," she finished brokenly, the fury draining out of her demeanor, replaced with a blank expression of grief. She raised a hand to cover her mouth as a strangled hiccup rose up into her throat, her eyes staring unblinkingly up into his face.

Erik watched with a strange sort of awe as tears gathered in her remarkable fog gray eyes. "Do not cry…" he moaned halfway to himself, her tears creating a sad sort of panic to spring to life within his chest. Reaching up to the clasp of his cape he deftly unhooked it from his throat and with a quick movement swirled the warm material about her shoulders, fastening it into place before she could protest. "I never could stand it when you cried," he said softly, his hands still resting lightly upon her delicate shoulders.

Gathering the heavy black material more closely about herself Brielle accepted his concerned gesture without comment, but after a moment the weight of his hands drew her notice. "You make it so hard to stay angry with you…" she muttered accusingly. "I should never forgive you for what you have done, but…when you look at me with those eyes I can see the man I once knew looking back at me and my resolve begins to crumble."

Unsure of what she was talking about Erik merely blinked down at her in confusion. Somehow, something in her tone sent an embarrassed flush working its way up his throat and he snatched away his hands from her body as if the touch of her had burnt him. _What about my eyes? I forgot how odd she often was…saying things like that…it is almost like…well…_ "Believe me…" he began uncertainly. "I am in no way trying to force you into feeling that…"

Waving one fistful of cape dismissively between them, Brielle shook her head. "No, never mind. I should have known that was something else you wouldn't understand."

"What…what are you talking about?"

Something like bashfulness forced Brielle's gaze from his, turning her eyes to the ground. "You have absolutely no idea how compelling the force of your personality can be," she replied with some irritation.

Not believing he had heard her correctly, Erik leaned forward slightly. "Pardon me, but if you are trying to imply that…"

"Oh, never mind!" she blurted out, interrupting him. "I can't believe I am talking about this anyway! When did I loose control of my own tongue!"

Taking offense at her patronizing tone, Erik tilted his chin up slightly. "I am sure I haven't the slightest idea!"

Color rose up in Brielle's cheeks as she shot him a heated glare, but to Erik's surprise he caught an altogether different tone to her looks and speech than just ten minutes ago. The fear was gone. The hate was gone. And in their places was a frustrated sort of temper and a lingering sadness. _Well…maybe this is an improvement. _The Irishwoman struggled for some time gathering her thoughts, the irritation fading and the sadness blackening her eyes.

"The one thing that I suppose that stings the most about this whole sad tale…is that in all the time we spent together you never did trust any of us at all," she murmured.

"No, you are wrong," Erik argued immediately, incensed that she should think such a thing. "In all my life you and your family were the only people I have ever trusted. I would have laid my life in your hands without a second thought."

"It was not that type of trust I was talking about. It is easy to rely upon someone to look after your welfare. But you never did trust us with something far more important…you never trusted us with yourself."

"What are you talking about now?" he snapped.

"You never trusted me…eh…us with your heart!" Brielle cried suddenly, one hand emerging from the warmth of his cape to stab him in the chest.

"Of course I did. I cared for you all deeply and…"

"No, you didn't trust us in the least. You ran off without trusting that my character was above betraying you! You can't deny that…"

"That was one example I hardly think that…"

Reaching out quickly, Brielle laid her hand lightly across his mouth, the tears which had been swimming about her eyes threatening to spill over at any moment. "You never trusted me with your past. Did you think I would judge you because of the things that happened when you were a child? Or the things at the Opera? I would have understood if you had only _told_ me…"

Throwing out his hands in frustration, Erik gritted his teeth. "What do you want me to say, woman? Don't you understand I couldn't tell you those things…and it wasn't about trust, it was about…"

"What!" she cried out, just as a single tear fell down her cheek.

Biting his lip Erik reached up and with his thumb gently stopped the tear's progress, wiping away the wetness with an intensity that was beginning to frighten him. "Don't you see? I couldn't allow the darkness in me to touch you. You were too good for that."

Caught off-guard by his rare display of tenderness, Brielle could only gape up at him for several moments, the fighting light in her eyes dimming to a dreamy haze. "Do you really think that was your decision alone? I wanted…I want to see all of you. The darkness and the light," she whispered, raising a tentative hand to cup his jaw just below the edge of his mask. Closing his eyes Erik tilted his head into her touch. "The beauty and the ugliness."

Starting at her last word Erik's eyes flew open, automatically in a panic. The insidious voice within his head screamed that she was no better than anyone else, that she just wanted to see what was under the mask, that she would pull it off any second. Tensing his entire body Erik waited for that gut-wrenching moment when her fingers would tear the mask from his face, but that moment did not come. When his panicked brain was able to focus back upon her face, he registered the fact that she was not trying to forcibly remove the hardened piece of leather from him. Instead she was calmly watching his every move with those blasted tear-bright eyes. Ashamed with himself, Erik realized that he had just proven the woman's point for her. _I don't trust her enough to believe that she is not secretly trying to humiliate me. That she won't scream and run in terror from what is under the mask. God…what a bastard!_

Cursing inwardly, Erik fumbled for the right words to say. _How did my apology to her turn into this strange study of my character. She looks so disappointed…she should be mad. I can deal with mad…this disappointment…it feels like a knife through my chest._

"I wasn't going to pull your blasted mask off, Erik," Brielle finally stated dryly. "I do have an ounce of respect left to not violate you in such a way."

"I know. I know! It was an automatic reaction. I just…I mean…" A sickening dread filled his stomach as she just continued to watch him expectantly. _Can I do it? If it means earning her forgiveness could I do it? Could I?...I don't know…I don't know…_"If you feel you have to see…I…I…" he sputtered incoherently, as he raised a shaking hand up to the side of his mask, the terror coursing through him thick enough to choke the words out of his throat.

His panic-numbed fingers were fumbling for the mask's ties when a small hand lay over the top of his, stopping its clumsy activity. Stilling at the touch, Erik stood stupidly for several moments, understanding slowly dawning upon his terror clouded brain. Focusing in upon Brielle's face the masked man felt her guide his limp hand away from his head and down to his side. Vaguely he felt her hands return to his face, her cool fingers cradling his jaw just below his ears. With a slight pressure she tilted his head downward as she rose up upon her tip toes and placed a soft kiss upon his forehead.

"That is all right little boy…" she crooned as a mother would to a fretful child. "I don't want to see that kind of show." Stepping away from him then Brielle looked off to the side, as if suddenly embarrassed by her actions. With a start Erik felt the loss of her touch like a tear to the soul, longing, if only for a moment more, to have her hands holding his face.

"I think I should get back inside now. Madame Dubois will wonder if I am missing for too long," Brielle said, after clearing her throat. Turning hastily away from Erik she crunched through the snow toward the still-open door in the wall nearby.

"Wait! I have to know…are you still angry with me?" Erik blurted out, some of the giddy fuzziness in his brain fading at her departure.

"Yes," she replied quickly. "I am furious."

"What?" he asked quietly, despairing at her words.

"But that doesn't mean that I won't eventually change my mind," she continued thoughtfully, as if surprised by this conclusion as much as he was.

Jumping on the chance Erik hurried after her. "There are no words to express the depths of my sorrow and regret over the pain I caused you and your family. I would happily spend the rest of my life to try and make it up to you…till the day I die," he babbled.

"The rest of your life?" Brielle asked, amused interest flickering across her face as she turned to look at him.

Suddenly realizing how presumptuous his words must have sounded Erik felt a blush begin to burn up his cheeks. _Good god what is wrong with me? Great Erik…what a stupid thing to say…that almost sounded like a twisted proposal! _"I meant that I will try to the best of my ability to…"

Shaking her head, Brielle stepped through the doorway. "I know what you meant. Just lead the way back before I get fired for my lengthy absence." Nodding, happy to hear the lightness in her tone, Erik followed, shutting the door behind them.


	47. A New Patron

**Hey everyone! Hope you all had a good week. And for those who started up school again you have my pity. I know my classes are driving me crazy already. (Hehe) **

**One really strange thing I have noticed lately is that more and more people seem to be reading my story…but there is not a corresponding increase in reviews. Now I don't like to nag…but come on people…I don't expect poetry in a review it only has to be a short note of what you like or don't like. **

**And I would just like to say a huge thank you to all those new readers who did take it upon themselves to respond. Same goes for all of my long time readers who do the same. I am serious when I say that I find it easier to write when I hear back from you! (hint hint.)**

**Oh! And something else really exciting! IHeartPOTO did another pic for me since I posted the last chapter! And it is really good too! Like…really, really, really good! This latest one is of Erik in the last chapter…when he is trying to explain everything to Brielle. He looks so cute they way she drew him babbling on! If any of you would like to see it, or the others she has drawn for me, just mention it in a review and I will be happy to show them to you! (I asked last week and she said I could do this, cause she is so nice.) And if you want to see the other stuff she has done just go and check out her websites…which I mentioned in the last chapter…but you can also just go to her profile for links too. **

**Hurray for my Beta Terpsichore314 she is wonderful…keeps my writing on task. Just thought you should all know that…again! (hehe) **

**But anyway enjoy the next chapter!**

Chapter 47: A New Patron

Pouting slightly, Conner sidestepped his sister, affecting an air of the thoroughly insulted. "I am hurt, Bri, that you think so lowly of me. I had to stop by and see if you were bored to tears yet. But since obviously you don't care about my visit, I will just have to go and talk with someone else. Maybe I can lower and debase myself to whoever that rich man is over there…that sounds like fun," he bellyached dramatically over his shoulder as he turned and arrogantly swaggered away from her.

Smiling to himself, not in the least feeling the insult he so accurately portrayed, the redhead slowly made his way to the murmuring crowd of chorus girls milling about in the middle of the stage. Bending slightly at the waist, he paused on the outer edge of the crowd, listening in unapologetically on one of the whispered conversations flying between two rather pretty chorus girls.

"Is it true this time? Have they actually found a patron?" A tiny freckle-faced brunette asked her taller blonde companion.

Shrugging one shoulder, the other girl pouted in thought, a calculating gleam lighting up her bright blue eyes. "I don't know…but he must be terribly rich. I wonder if…" She stopped suddenly when Conner cleared his throat.

Both girls started at his sudden appearance, their gossiping coming to a complete stop as twin Cheshire cat grins spread across their faces. The willowy blonde raised one well-manicured eyebrow in his direction as she turned her full attention to him. "Ladies," he said teasingly as he straightened. "What is the news on this new dandy? Anything interesting?"

The little brunette opened her mouth to reply excitedly but the other girl jumped in before she could get a word out. Sidling up shockingly close to Conner's chest, the blonde smiled seductively as she lightly traced a finger along his jacket lapel. "I would love to tell you all about it, love," she purred, as Conner raised one eyebrow over her forwardness.

The chorus girl was exactly the type that Conner could see himself chasing after; her large knowing eyes, and perfectly heart shaped mouth were two characteristics that should have sent a shiver of delight running up his spine. But something was wrong, the interest did not come, and he couldn't quite flash his normally playful grin in response to her obvious actions. Rather, he found himself looking away from her inviting face uncomfortably, his eyes flickering absently about the crowd, looking for an altogether different blonde beauty. _I wonder if the ballet corps is on break or if they are…Hell and damnation! What am I thinking? _Irritated with himself, Conner forced his gaze back to the girl standing in front of him.

Without smiling he reached up and plucked the blonde's wandering fingers from his clothing. "I don't want to know that badly…" he replied sweetly, his tone almost disguising the bite in his words, almost.

Insulted, the girl jerked her hand out of his touch and flounced away, dragging her dark-haired friend with her. Now free to continue on, Conner picked his way through the crowd. _I must be some sort of idiot…mooning over an annoying little blonde whom I hardly know. God…maybe I need to get laid…_Quickly breaking out of the tightly packed group of girls, the redhead plastered a welcoming smile over the annoyed scowl on his face as he approached Andre, Firmin and a dark-haired man whose head was currently turned to look back over his shoulder.

"Gentlemen, I was just passing by when I noticed you giving a tour. Shall I introduce myself?" he asked helpfully, causing both Andre and Firmin to nod hurriedly to his suggestion. _Hopefully if this twit agrees to actually fund the theater we can get on to serious practicing. I am sick of all this half-assed foolishness we have been doing lately, _he grumbled internally while the immaculately dressed visitor cocked his head to the side in response to his Irish-tinged accent.

When the wealthy man finally turned to face him, all thoughts within Conner's head came to an abrupt halt. Standing elegant and still as a winter's day, hardly a foot in front of the Irishman, was a person he had not seen, nor wanted to see, in over nine months; but, despite the long absence, Conner had not forgotten the coolly handsome features or beetle black eyes now boring into his. He had dreamed of that arrogant smirk and unfeeling gaze for the months when Brielle was missing. It was a face straight out of his nightmares. _Andrew…_

"I don't believe that will be necessary, Mr. Sinclair," Andrew stated smoothly as his dark eyes focused in on Conner's shocked expression. "For I can safely say we have met before."

Conner felt his jaw go slack as his brain slowly registered the enormity of what his eyes were seeing. _This cannot be happening…he CAN'T be standing there right now. Sweet Mary…Brielle is just across the stage!_ His stomach dropped sickly down into his boots as the first wave of dread washed through his mind. Opening and closing his mouth, Conner fought against the urge to turn his head and look back at where his sister stood. _He can't be allowed to see her…or…or…_ An image of Brielle's terrified face floated up into his mind's eye, and as he thought about what she must have gone through in Andrew's care, fury replaced the dread. It took every ounce of willpower not to pull back a fist and rearrange the smiling lord's teeth.

Blindly turning on his heel, Conner crashed into a small plaster pillar nearby, knocking the blasted thing over to shatter against the floor. Cursing his own stupidity, the redhead hurried back through the gathered crowd. _I have to warn her at least…so she doesn't do something stupid. I will just walk right by her…won't even look at her…but I have to warn her. _ Pulling free of the confining mass of the crowd Conner slowed his stride as he walked toward where Brielle stood. He could see the laughter leave her eyes as she took in the hollow dread etching lines across his face. She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off with a hurried gesture.

"Run…" Conner mouthed silently, the sound of Andre and Firmin coming up behind him spurring on his panic. Brielle's eyes drifted to the two harassed men, until with a start she recognized the third man in the group striding across the stage. Taking a deep breath, the redhead gathered his wits, listening to his sister hurriedly turn and retreat back into the shadows of the wings. The clicking of her boots had almost faded out of earshot when Andre called upon her to stop and go clean up the pillar Conner had accidentally knocked over. Cursing heaven and hell and everything else that came to mind Conner turned to address the managers scrambling behind him.

Momentarily eyeing the managers, the redhead hurriedly cast about in his head for a way to prevent Brielle from turning around and being recognized. Coming up with no grand scheme he sighed and simply did what came naturally, acting like an ass. Throwing up both arms, Conner let out an enraged bellow, making a show of storming off the stage, effectively drawing the attention of all those present to his outrageous display. Shock rippled through the gathered chorus members as they watched the Irishman work himself up into a dither. Copying one of Carlotta's many tantrums, he pitched his voice up into an earsplitting howl, thickening his accent until his words blended together into one long unintelligible rant as he continued to scream off into the wings.

Andre and Firmin could only stare slack-jawed after Conner for several moments, completely caught off-guard by this uncharacteristic hysteria. Both managers quickly recovered from their initial disbelief and immediately forgot about the dark-haired cleaning lady they had been addressing, focusing all of their fawning attention upon their lead violinist's retreating figure.

"I will not work with that man!" Conner shouted over his shoulder, as the two managers ran after him. "I refuse! Absolutely not!" the redhead continued, switching back and forth between French and English with a dramatic wave of his arm. "The mere sight of him makes me ill!"

"Surely you do not mean that," Andre piped up, his voice cracking on the last word as he tried to be heard over the top of Conner's shouting. "Monsieur Donovan is one of the leading Englishmen in…"

"Yes!" Firmin interrupted before Andre could finish. "Lord Donovan has offered a very gracious budget to the Opera house. We all should be honored to be…"

"Oh, it is all right." A snowdrift-cold voice said, efficiently cutting through every other sound upon the stage. "I have always been aware of what Mr. Sinclair thinks of me. No need to try and change his mind." There was a pause as Andrew came to stand a few feet from where Conner stood, tensed. "Though I have to say how glad I am to see you again, Conner. I had been told you were working here now, which I thought rather odd…considering you are a soloist. But I suppose it is your right to branch out. Tell me…how has Brielle been lately? I trust you have heard from her."

A tense moment followed when Conner thought he would physically attack the young lord. "I am sorry to disappoint you…" he growled through clenched teeth, raising one hand to violently stab a finger toward Andrew. "But I have not heard from my sister in months. We had a falling out before Christmas…as you know."

A slow smile spread across Andrew's face as his dark eyes took in the barely controlled violence in Conner's gesture. "Yes…I do know. She threw you out of the house, didn't she? How did it feel, Mr. Sinclair…to be thrown out of an English lord's country estate? It must have stung your overblown Irish pride…"

Seeing red, Conner raised his other hand and shot toward the smirking aristocrat. "I'll wipe that smile off your face, you blasted English pig!" he hissed.

Wrapping one hand around Andrew's lapel Conner swung his other fist back, fully intending to smash it into the black eyed man's face. A moment before he brought his fist forward two restraining arms wrapped around his right arm. "Now, now!" Firmin's desperate voice sputtered in Conner's ear. "Gentlemen, surely your differences are not so great as to lead to blows…or worse, to a withdrawal of funding!"

Having staggered back from the unexpected assault, Andrew now stood uneasily several feet away, his dark eyes warily watching as Conner relaxed and stepped away from Firmin's anxious hands. "I doubt my presence here will be that much of a concern," the black-eyed man stated stiffly as he straightened his jacket.

"Oh? And just how do you figure that?" Conner snapped.

"Simple," Andrew replied as he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "My business obligations require that I return to England for a time. So, though I do love our conversations, Mr. Sinclair, I shall not be here to witness the reopening of the Opera," he continued as he opened the paper and handed it into Firmin's astonished hand.

Shocked by this statement, Conner's mouth pinched shut with a click. He schooled his features into a mask of calm, as the wheels in his head began to turn. _He won't be here? What the hell? I was sure he only came here because he suspected that I might know where Brielle is…This is good…it is better than I thought. Maybe this won't turn into a disaster after all. _Relief, so intense that his legs nearly gave out from under him, flooded through Conner's body.

"That is a contract of the conditions of my patronage," Andrew said, flicking one corner of the page. "As you see, I have already signed it. I had decided to back the Opera before coming here. The tour was merely…amusing. I think you will find the terms acceptable. My only stipulation is that you fill the position of lead tenor with one of the three Englishmen on that list. They are all suitably talented and have all been featured at the London Opera house. You see, I think it is only fair that since an Englishman is backing your little production that an Englishman should share in the limelight with the big names you have already selected."

"Well I don't know, monsieur…we do have a set guideline for picking out performers. And it would be very difficult to…" Andre began as he glanced around Firmin's shoulder to squint down at the pages. His eyes traveled quickly down the top page until they came to a spot near the bottom. Stepping closer Andre pointed a shaking finger at that same particular point. "My Lord…this number here…is…are…"

Looking bored now, Andrew merely raised one eyebrow at Andre's stuttering. "The number to which you are pointing is the amount I have set aside for your use."

Firmin and Andre both stared blankly at Andrew for a moment before turning stunned eyes back to the contract. "This is extremely generous, my lord," Firmin sputtered, his brown eyes nearly popping out of his head. "This is the largest budget we have ever been given…I…I don't know what to say."

A slow smug smile curled up both corners of Andrew's mouth at Firmin's obvious astonishment. "Yes, well when I become involved in a project I do not like to go in half-assed, if you will pardon the term. And the Donovan name can certainly spare the amount. This place will become a shining example to all other Opera houses…we will put all others to shame."

Bowing excitedly, Andre rubbed his hands together in glee, and touched by the stirring speech, the worry lines relaxed around his blue eyes. "Yes, my lord. I have never heard a more stirring and inspiring…"

Raising one hand in a silencing motion, Andrew quieted the manager's excited fawning. "Also I had heard that it is wise to be generous in this place," the young lord murmured slowly, his black eyes rising to look about their surroundings. "It is the rumor around town that last year your patron made the mistake of angering the local spirit…what was it called…the Phantom, I believe." Both Firmin and Andre's smiles slipped immediately from their faces, an edge of panic tightening their features. "Tell me," Andrew continued calmly, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Have you had any further trouble with your ghost? Any more trouble with disappearing sopranos? Though I don't suppose so…Miss Daae ran off to England to be married."

Shaking his head, Firmin hastily cut in. "Oh no, my lord! No…all of our troubles are long over! And yes, Miss Daae is now far off…elsewhere."

Nodding slightly, Andrew pursed his lips. "No? No sign at all? Pity…I love a good ghost story."

"Yeah, I bet you do! What do you know about it? They figured out it wasn't a ghost at all. It was some poor lunatic that was responsible, and he was most likely ripped to pieces by the mob that raced down to the lower levels…" Conner snapped wondering at Andrew's sudden interest in the Opera's ghost.

Merely raising an eyebrow in the redhead's direction, Andrew rubbed a thumb over his silver-handled cane. "You merely have to sign on the dotted line and file the paperwork with my lawyers here in Paris and the deal will be complete," he said, completely changing the subject.

Taking the manager's stunned silence in stride, Andrew moved past the gathered men, swinging his silver-headed cane out before him. "While you consider that amount, let us continue the tour. I would like to meet the other leads you have secured."

Concerned by this turn of events, Conner started after the retreating aristocrat. "Why? You already said that the tour didn't matter." _I don't know where Brielle went…Damn it…how can I keep him away from her if I don't know where she is or where he will wander off to?_

"Perhaps I would like a sample of what this establishment has to offer," Andrew replied vaguely.

"You are tone deaf you snobbish baboon!" Conner exploded. "God himself could come down with all his heavenly host and you wouldn't be able to tell their voices from that of a squealing pig's."

Ignoring the Irishman's outburst, Andrew continued on, completely unaffected by the insults. Firmin hurried after Conner, grabbing the redhead's arm firmly in one hand. "Perhaps it would be better for you to go and cool your head a bit. Until the lord leaves, that is."

Glaring off after Andrew, Conner slowly clenched his hands into fists at his sides. "Yes, of course," he said politely, his tone as sharp as the daggers glittering in his eyes. "Just watch that one…he is a snake if I ever did see one."

And with that, the redhead turned on his heel, stalking off behind the draping folds of a hanging curtain. Angrily batting at the heavy material with one hand, he waited until he was out of sight before breaking into a run. _All right…just think calmly. How can I find Bri in this stupid labyrinth? I am just now getting to the point where I can find my way to the stage without getting lost…who could I ask to…_

"Of course…I should have thought of it earlier…" he mumbled to himself as he slid haphazardly around a corner, changing his course to now be heading straight toward the ballet practice room.

Running past a group of dancers being measured for their costumes, the redhead clattered up a flight of stairs. By the time Conner made it to his destination, he was red in the face and a light sheen of sweat graced his freckled brow. Bursting through a set of double doors and into the practice room, the Irishman barely had time to take in the rows of stretching dancers before Madame Giry descended upon him.

"What in the world is the meaning of this interruption, sir!" she demanded as she banged the bottom of her cane against the hardwood floor.

Faced with the full force of the older woman's imposing glare, Conner found his mind going completely blank. "Um…well…" Looking off to one side, he suddenly caught sight of where Maryann stood preening in a corner. Struck by a bolt of inspiration, Conner grinned and bowed charmingly toward Madame Giry. "I came to tell you that our new patron is touring the theater. Lord Donovan said he was interested in seeing the best that the Opera had to offer."

"Is that all?" she replied, unaffected by his goofy grin. "Will they also be coming about to disrupt my practice?"

Raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck, as if suddenly embarrassed, Conner shrugged his shoulders. "No, I don't think so…I believe our patron is not very impressed with dancing but…hmmm…what did he call it…'the opiate of the masses?'"

The dance mistress stiffened at his words, outrage staining her cheeks scarlet. "He said that…that…" she sputtered.

"That ballet was the opiate of the masses…" Conner supplied as he rocked back on his heels innocently, watching with a secret smile as Madame Giry wrapped her hands around her cane with a white-knuckled grip.

"Well, we will just have to see about that!" she snapped as she turned away from him. She was spitting mad by the time she swept out of the room, murder glittering in her normally stony eyes.

Watching the fuming woman storm out the doors, Conner backed further into the practice hall, only turning to face the room of curious dancers when he saw the hem of Madame Giry's black skirts disappear around the corner. Satisfied that he was safe, and that Andrew was about to get an earful, the Irishman searched the room for the one head of blonde curls he was looking for. Spotting his quarry, he crossed the open dance floor in several purposeful strides. Touching Meg upon the shoulder lightly to get her attention, Conner opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he was struck by an unexpected jolt of electricity running up his hand from her bare skin. Jerking his hand back, as if burned, Conner could only stare wide eyed at his own fingers while Meg turned around and stared warily up at him.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted, a startled uneasiness rising up in her large brown eyes.

Shaking his head to clear it, Conner bent down to speak into her ear, trying to ignore the tempting fragrance drifting up from her bright curls. "I need you to come with me, quickly. I will explain outside…but I need your help."

Tilting her head to the side slightly, Meg stilled as she listened to him, her hands clasped gracefully before her stomach. It took several moments for her to take a deep breath and nod her head. Conner pulled away from her then, careful not to touch her again as he turned and indicated for her to lead the way out of the practice room. Meg blinked at his courteous gesture, her eyes following the curve of his arm up to his now composed features. Casting him an irritated glare, Meg squared her shoulders and hurried ahead of him out of the room.

As soon as they had cleared the doorway, Meg rounded upon Conner, her blonde curls bouncing as she shook a finger under his nose. "What is it that was so important that you had to pull me out of practice?"

Pulling a handkerchief out of his vest pocket, Conner waved it in the air between them, cheekily signaling a white flag in the face of her outrage. "Settle down there, lass. I do have a good reason…don't get your ire up so quickly just because you don't like me."

Swiping at the handkerchief, Meg narrowed her normally warm cinnamon eyes. "Don't call me lass, you irresponsible flirt!"

Irritated and quickly losing his cool, Conner felt the protective grin upon his face falter and slip away, leaving only the gnawing worry in its place. "Listen, I really don't have time to fight with the likes of you. The new patron I mentioned earlier…it is Andrew!"

Choking on the angry retort boiling up the back of her throat, Meg sputtered and closed her mouth at his statement. "What? Andrew…as in THE Andrew?" For the first time since he had met her, true fear clouded the softness of her eyes.

"Ahh, I see I have your attention now! Yes, Andrew, as in Brielle's former fiancé. He is here taking a bleeding tour of the Opera. And I don't know where Bri is! He hasn't seen her yet, but we have to find her fast or he could stumble upon her by accident and ruin everything!" Raising both hands, he dug his fingers into his hair, causing bits to stand up at odd angles when his hands dropped away to rub anxiously over his face.

"All right, all right! We will go and look for her then," Meg said unevenly, reaching up to pull down on his arm until her small hand was wrapped tightly around his.

"I was hoping you would say that," Conner murmured vaguely, suddenly distracted by the warmth of her hand in his.

Taking the softness in his tone as worry, Meg merely patted his hand and pulled him along after her. The initial fear in her eyes now replaced with intense determination. "Don't worry, I grew up here. I know this place better than anyone…or almost better anyway. We will find her!"

Finding a strange sense of calm from her certainty, Conner felt a crooked smile flicker to life across his face. "You are right. We will find her…just lead the way."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With a gasp, Brielle stumbled over an uneven floor tile in the secret passage Erik was leading her down. The darkness was so complete that when she fell forward she couldn't even see the hands she flung out to catch herself. Like an idiot she had not taken Erik's offered hand when they had began the journey back to the lower floors. She had just found the prospect of him touching her, even in such a casual way, too dangerously confusing to allow. Even without any physical contact Brielle was finding it extremely difficult to form coherent thoughts; the mere strength of his presence was enough to send her heart racing within her chest.

_Actually, just about everything that has happened today is enough to make me lose my mind._ _I don't know what to think anymore. Should I believe him when he says he is sorry? Should I believe his explanation of what happened last year…that he never wanted to hurt anybody? I don't know…I want to believe him but I just keep seeing the look on his face two weeks ago. He looked so angry…so not himself that I hardly recognized him. I have never seen that side of him before…and it scares me. It makes me wonder what else I don't know. Is it possible that I got to know the man…but missed the monster hiding behind him?_

Closing her eyes for a moment, Brielle let out a shaky breath. She pushed her hand harder against her chest, trying to press out the old pain which had been emanating from the bottomless chasm in her soul, trying to fill the despair with anger, but failing because she suddenly realized that sometime in the last half an hour the emptiness inside her had shrunk. Opening her eyes with a start, she stared into the darkness in shock. Hidden behind the confusion and fury was another emotion she had not felt in months, an odd sense of contentment, like she was finally where she was supposed to be.

Frowning at her wayward emotions, Brielle dropped her hand back to her side. _And all of that doesn't even touch upon the fact that he ran off like he did. I can't even think about THAT without becoming infuriated all over again. _

Huffing slightly at the thought, Brielle recovered quickly from her moment of clumsiness, secretly hoping that the man walking in front of her hadn't noticed. No such luck. He turned toward her in the darkness, his movement given away only by a slight rustle of his clothing. The man moved as stealthily as a cat.

"That is the fourth time you have stumbled," he said after a moment, the deep vibrations of his voice coming out of the darkness like a caress against Brielle's senses.

"Well, thank you so much for keeping track!" Brielle snapped in response, her words coming out far harsher than how she had intended. _For god's sake, Brielle! Don't turn into a shrew just because you have a lot on your mind. All I know for sure is that he saved my life today…and that should be worth something. _Reaching up to pinch her nose, she tried to tamp down her temper. "Sorry…But I just cannot figure out how you can make your way without seeing anything. You just walk along as if taking a stroll down the street, and I am practically falling all over myself."

"I have had years to become familiar with every crack and crevice of this place. I can see it all in my mind, even if I cannot see it with my eyes," he replied casually, his simple explanation downplaying the fact that he just admitted to having the blueprints for the entire theater memorized. "Normally I do not have the problem of leading another person. If I had had more time I would have thought to bring a lantern," he finished a little guiltily.

"No, no…I am fine. There really wasn't all that much time to think it over. You sort of cut it to the last second when you showed up to help me." Pausing there, Brielle laid her hand against the wall, trying to steady herself in the disorienting darkness. "I don't think I thanked you for that by the way. So…thank you."

"You were angry. I didn't expect a thank you."

"Yes, but you have my gratitude nonetheless. My temper is not an excuse to treat someone else with disrespect and rudeness," Brielle said with conviction.

Erik was silent for a time after her statement. "Some people would not agree with you, I think. It would take far less for most to mistreat their fellow man," he replied thoughtfully, a touch of something darker sneaking into his voice.

Sniffing at that, Brielle tucked a wayward piece of hair behind her ear. "Well, I never have taken to the stupidity of others."

He made a small sound in response, almost like a laugh. "No, you never did." They fell into an awkward silence then, Brielle's uncomfortable tension only heightened by the fact that she couldn't see his face, read his expression. Pulling the borrowed cloak tighter about her shoulders she tilted her face into the collar. _God, it smells like him…_

Erik shifted in the darkness, breaking the suffocating silence. "This would be much easier if you would allow me to lead you by the hand," he said slowly.

"I know," she sighed, annoyed with the logic of his suggestion. "All right then, for the sake of speed."

"Yes, for expediency's sake," he agreed easily, the hint of a smile lightening his tone.

Taking a breath, Brielle raised one hand blindly out in front of her, bracing herself against the excited tingling already working its way up her arm. _Blast…what is wrong with you? Stop being such a silly ninny…he hasn't even touched you yet. Besides I have no reason for working myself up…after all…I am furious with him…_Letting out the breath she had unconsciously been holding she was suddenly very grateful for the blackness within the tunnel, at least she could be sure that the foolishness which was undoubtedly printed all over her face was hidden. There was some comfort in the fact that Erik had no idea what a raving lunatic she was. _God, just a few nice words from him and part of me is ready to fall all over myself. Toughen up! _

After a slight pause of tense anticipation, Brielle soon felt her ire begin to rise. "Well? What is it? Have you changed your mind?"

"Of course not. I was simply trying to figure out the best way to locate your hand. If you haven't noticed it is rather dark in here…and I didn't want to run the risk of…well," he said, stumbling slightly over his words at the end. "I didn't want to run the risk of grabbing anything other than your hand," he finished in a rush, the hurried nature of his statement not quite able to cover up the embarrassment in his admission.

Something about his tone, or the words he used, cracked the ice Brielle had so carefully wrapped around her heart. Coloring in response to Erik's uncharacteristic bashfulness, Brielle drew her hand back to cover the unexpected chuckle working its way up the back of her throat. Of all the things she had thought he would say that hadn't been it. "Oh…well…yes I can see as how that is a problem," she snickered finally, unable to hold in the laughter any longer.

Erik made an annoyed sound at her reaction. "I am sorry…I didn't mean to laugh…it's only that if I held that in any longer my teeth would have exploded."

"Well that hardly helps the situation," came a curt reply.

Clearing her throat, Brielle nodded her head. "No, you are right…sorry. You just surprised me is all." The only response to her apology was a deep harrumph. "Lord, Erik, it is pitch black in here. I am not going to cut your throat if we bump into each other."

"Yes, well, I figured I should err on the side of caution, considering…"

"Considering?" she prompted, after he drew to a stop.

Even without any light to see by, Brielle just knew that a smile was spreading across Erik's face; something in the air changed when he smiled. "Considering your explosive Irish temper," he said smugly.

With a mock outraged gasp Brielle raised her hands up to her face. "My word, sir! What a thing to say to a gently raised lady. It is nothing short of shocking!" she laughed, strangely enough falling easily into the banter; for a moment the gulf of months of separation narrowed, then disappeared, the bitterness and emotional chaos between them faded into the darkness of the tunnel.

"Here now, stop all this malarkey."

"Malarkey, hmm? Sometimes I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about."

"Oh, blast you, you know perfectly well what I meant Mr. _I have the whole Opera blueprints memorized._ Here, take my hand before I break my neck in this damned place," she said definitively, waving her hand before her through the air.

Erik made a soft clucking sound of disappointment deep in his throat. "Language, Madame," he said gravely. "But keep talking. I can use your voice as a reference point."

The smile fading from her face Brielle felt, with some regret, the ease of their old friendship gutter and weaken, the awkwardness rolling back in. "Um, all right. Put on the spot like this…suddenly I don't have anything to say."

"Like you would ever run out of things to say."

Incensed by his insinuation, Brielle's temper flared. "And you are one to talk! Always prattling on about some architectural style or other nonsense." Twisting her face automatically into a dramatic snobby expression, even though no one could see it, she lowered her voice into a comical overblown French accent. "But, ov course," she began nasally, obviously attempting to copy a particular Frenchman. "'ow, can you compare the frivolity ov Rococo design wiv the classical purity ov the blah, blah, blah…"

Erik did not respond to her barb, but Brielle could almost feel him frown in irritation. Opening her mouth to continue, she was stopped when a slight feather-light touch brushed momentarily across her cheek before slipping away, only to return a moment later more insistently just along her jaw-line. Sucking in a startled breath, Brielle's mouth dropped open as the cool, soft leather of Erik's black glove skimmed down along the curve of her neck, over her shoulder, following the curve of her arm. Shivers of delight radiated out from the trails of his fingers, leaving her breathless and edgy.

His touch moving down her arm to grasp her hand, Erik gently wrapped his fingers about hers. "Found you…" he said simply, his words breaking through her daze, sounding as if issuing from inside her own thoughts.

Shaking her head slightly, Brielle tried to clear her mind and banish the fingers of warmth coiling low in her stomach. Vainly she cast about for something to say as Erik gently pulled her forward, leading her slowly through the blackness. She was saved the effort when the masked man took it upon himself to speak up.

"I know you do not completely believe the things I told you today," he said flatly, his tone perfectly even, not giving away what was going through his head.

"Oh? And how do you know that?"

"Up on the roof I could see it in your eyes. When you get mad or defensive your face goes cold…but your eyes…they were not made for lying," he continued, trying to sound nonchalant with that bit of information. "It is all right, though. I expected much worse…I have found to always expect the worst."

Sensing a darker undertone to his casual words, Brielle found herself automatically squeezing Erik's hand. "Erik…I…"

"We are here," he stated roughly, before clearing his throat. "This will put you out on the second floor near the ballet dormitories. I don't think Andre and Firmin will lead Andrew there. You will be safe."

Brielle heard a soft click from somewhere in front of her, then a shaft of muted gas lighting streaked in through the secret door as it swung open. The light effectively outlined Erik's figure, highlighting his broad shoulders and narrow waist with an almost angelic haloed effect. Swallowing hard and turning her eyes away, Brielle took a steadying breath. "What was it that finally changed your mind?"

Turning in the doorway to look over his shoulder at her Erik's one visible eyebrow scrunched down into a frown. "What?"

"Up until just about a week ago you were dead set against me. What was it that changed your mind?"

Pressing his lips together as he considered her, Erik sighed. "I spoke with someone who informed me of my stupidity…" he hedged, obviously trying to avoid the subject.

Biting her lip in thought, Brielle smiled slowly when an idea took form in her mind. "Was it Conner that you talked to?"

"Maybe…"

"Don't worry about giving him away or anything. I figured he had done something sneaky last week when I saw the fat lip he was sporting." Thinking it over, Brielle gave a soft little laugh. "Remember the first time you two met? I was afraid you would both kill each other…you thought he was a thief."

Breaking eye contact, Erik turned his head back toward the slightly open door, but not before Brielle caught the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, I remember. You wiped the blood from my face with your handkerchief."

Feeling a blush begin to burn her cheeks at the memory Brielle quickly changed the subject. "Yes, Aria was so happy when…"

Coming to a sudden stop, a terrible thought flashed through her mind. She opened her mouth but no sound came out as she took a hasty step forward. Pushing past Erik, she staggered out into the hallway beyond the doorway. "Sweet Mary…I didn't even think about it before."

Concern over her sudden pallor had Erik quickly chasing after her as she started down the empty hall. "What? What is it?"

"Aria! I didn't even think about it. Andrew could see her! He could see her and know…I have to find her!" she nearly shouted, unmindful of the fact that anyone might hear her frantic words.

"Brielle…" he called after her nervously as he glanced around to make sure they were alone. Grabbing her arm, Erik spun the Irishwoman back toward him, stopping her march down the hall. "Brielle, you don't have to worry."

"What!" she screamed. "Why not? I forgot to protect my child because I was so busy fighting with you! Why shouldn't I worry!"

Moving forward quickly, Erik clapped a hand over her mouth, cutting off anything else she was about to say. "Shh…" he hissed. "I told you not to worry because I know where she is already. She is taking a nap in the kitchens. The head cook always gives her cookies when she wanders in. When she seemed tired the staff set her up in the back on a pile of flour sacks. There is no way Andrew will be allowed in there while they are cooking lunch."

Stilling in his grasp, Brielle stared at him over the top of his hand. Slowly he peeled his fingers away from her mouth. "How do you know that?" she asked quietly.

Dropping his other hand from her arm, Erik stepped away. "I have been watching the two of you for some time. From the moment you came here…I have been watching," he said, grimacing over his own words.

"Really?" she asked, slightly taken aback by his words, not sure if she should be thankful or disturbed by his confession.

"Yes, surely you must have known that all the unexplained things happening this week were me…I was trying to think of a way to repent for…"

"For all of the nasty things you had done before that?"

"Yes…" he said tiredly, a sadness that she hadn't been able to see before flickering in his eyes.

Smiling slightly, Brielle clasped her hands together in front of her stomach. "You know…this whole time I did feel like there was someone there I couldn't see. Someone watching…like a guardian angel."

Erik's head snapped up at her last word; something dark and unnamed flashed in the burning blue of his eyes. "No!" he snapped harshly. A moment passed and the dangerous glint in his gaze wavered then sank back below the surface. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"Don't apologize…it is fine" Brielle replied carefully.

"Think of my actions more that of a concerned friend…nothing more." Clearing his throat and looking away, Erik took a measured step backwards. "I should be going. No doubt people are looking for you by now."

"Yes…you are right," she said, suddenly finding that she didn't want him to go and furious with herself for feeling that way. Clenching her fists at her sides, Brielle watched Erik turn and disappear back through the secret door without saying another word. Sighing to herself, she stared at the blank wall where the door had been a moment ago, then turning she hurried down the hallway.

_All right, I should go and check on Aria…then I should somehow find Conner and tell him I am all right,_ she thought to herself, not even noticing the hunched figure that turned the corner just then and marched purposely toward her. It wasn't until Madame Dubois was only a few feet away that Brielle even noticed the hawk-eyed woman.

"Where in the hell have you been, girl!" the older woman snapped. "I gave you this position in the hopes that you would actually stay around to do the work. The new patron just left and I find myself short-staffed because you ran off!"

"Madame, I am sorry, I can explain…" Brielle said, trying to stay calm in the face of such furious disapproval.

Her wrinkled face turning red in anger, Madame Dubois shook a finger under Brielle's nose. "I should toss you out on your backside for this! It is unacceptable!"

Worried now at the turn of the conversation, Brielle raised her hands in a placating gesture. "No, madame, surely that isn't necessary! I will make up for my absence. I swear it."

Puffing up in outrage, the older woman slapped Brielle's hands down. "Now, you listen here…"

Wincing as the wrinkled old woman continued her tirade, Brielle allowed her gaze to flicker up over the Madame's head to a movement at the end of the hallway. Startled, she watched Conner and Meg come rushing around the corner, relief slowly overtaking their features as they caught sight of her.

"There you are, Brielle!" Meg called out with a happy wave as she rushed past Conner and came to stand beside Brielle. "We have been looking all over for you!"

Turning upon the blonde, Madame Dubois stiffened, turning purple in the face. "Here now! I am talking to this lazy girl. Off with you or I will take a whip to your backside!" she shouted, waving her hands expressively under Meg's nose.

"Whoa, now, Madame…certainly we can solve this without getting all worked up," Conner put in as he came up to join the small group, his best heart-melting grin firmly plastered across his face.

Immune to the redhead's charms, the older woman narrowed her eyes up at Conner. "And why are you sniffing around after one of my workers? What concern is she of yours!"

Glancing briefly in Brielle's direction, Conner's smile dulled down just a bit. "Um…well…"

Poking a finger in Conner's chest, Madame Dubois practically shook in fury. "I have had enough! No more foolishness. I HAVE HAD ENOU…"

Unexpectedly the older woman's words cut off into a sickening gurgle, one of her hands going up to clutch wildly at her chest. Turning shocked fearful eyes to Brielle, she gave a little squeak and toppled to the side. Acting quickly Conner was able to catch the distressed woman before she hit the ground. Carefully lowering her to the floor, the redhead anxiously shook the Madame's shoulder.

"Madame? What is it?" he asked sharply.

Working her mouth like a landed fish, the wrinkled woman stared straight up at the ceiling. "My chest…it feels like something is sitting on my chest," she murmured softly, her breathing coming in and out far too fast. A blank flatness stole over her normally sharp eyes as her hands continued to claw at her blouse.

Dropping to the floor beside the woman, Brielle laid a cool hand on Madame Dubois' forehead. "Hang on, Madame…just slow your breathing. Keep calm….just…" Breaking off, Brielle sucked in a horrified gasp as the older woman stilled, and stopped breathing.

Meg let out a high-pitched shriek, drawing several curious onlookers to the end of the hallway. "She is dead! Oh My GOD! Brielle, she is dead!"


	48. Changes

**Hey all! I am a terrible person for making you all wait so long for this chapter. But hopefully I made up for it with the length and the content in this one. Thanks to everyone for being so patient…and for those of you who gave me a gentle kick in the behind every once in awhile. **

**As always I have to say a big, giant, huge thanks to my beta terpsichore314. Her suggestions always help me sort through all my crazy ideas. Hurray for her! (Especially since this chapter was so long!)**

**Hehe…and surprise! IHeartPoto has done another fun pic for me from the last chapter. This one is of Madame Giry when Conner told her that Andrew wasn't interested in ballet. Haha she looks like she is going to KILL someone. But anyway not IHeartPoto is putting her pics online so everyone can see them. **

**Go here and you can see the Madame Giry one… **

http /i42. photobucket. com/ albums/ e317/ IHeartPOTO/ MadamGiry.jpg

(Just remove the spaces and you will have the link.)

**Oh and if you sent me a review last week trying to get the pics and haven't heard back from me it is cause you didn't leave an email with your review. I do need an email address to send the pics along. So just mention it again this week and I will try to get them to you as quick as I can. **

Chapter 48: Changes

Brielle sank to her knees next to the gasping older woman, putting an unsteady hand upon Madame Dubois' clammy forehead. _What else could go wrong today? Sweet Mary…first Erik and now this? I can hardly think…my head is just stuffed too full._ "Hang on Madame…just slow your breathing. Keep calm….just…" Breaking off, Brielle sucked in a horrified gasp as the older woman stilled and stopped breathing. Her heart slamming against her rib cage, the Irishwoman raised an over-wide gaze to where her brother knelt across from her, his fairy green eyes dark with panic. _What do I do? God, what do I do! Think…think. _

Looking over Brielle's shoulder, Meg caught sight of the blue lips and pinched skin of coming death in the prone woman's face. Jumping back, the blonde let out a high-pitched shriek, drawing several curious onlookers to the end of the hallway. "She is dead! Oh My GOD! Brielle, she is dead!"

Jumping at her friend's frantic screams, Brielle broke eye contact with Conner and glanced back down at the still body in front of her, slowly pulling her hand away from the woman's old, wrinkled forehead. "I upset her…" she murmured slowly through numbed lips, all the color remaining in her face draining away as the guilt pressed the air from her lungs. _Think…think. What do I do? This is my fault…I shouldn't have argued with her!_

Releasing his hold on Madame Dubois' arm, Conner dropped his hands to the tops of his thighs. Glancing up he frowned at his sister. "What?"

"I killed her…I upset her so badly that her heart stopped. Oh my God! Oh my God!" Raising both hands to cover her mouth; Brielle felt the horror blossom within her chest, battling with her galloping heart for space, her blood freezing within her body. "This is my fault!"

"Hey," Conner cut in harshly. "You didn't cause her to keel over. So stop saying that. She is…was an old lady and it would be natural for her to…"

Startled by the finality of his words Brielle glanced up, lowering her hands to her sides. "That she died?" she finished, her kohl-darkened eyebrows drawing together into a considering frown. The shock and mind-numbing panic began to fade from her features as the wheels in her brain stuttered back into motion. _No…wait a second. You know better…once you knew better. Think Brielle…Think…_

As several stagehands and chorus members began to gather at the end of the hallway, Meg stopped her hysterical shrieks, her large brown eyes staring with a terrible fascination at Madame Dubois' unmoving body. Bursting into tears, the blonde covered her face, turning her head away from the disturbing sight at her feet. "W-We should go get a priest…so she can have last rites…" she muttered through her fingers.

Her expression clearing, Brielle stared down at her hands. _It has been a long time since I have thought about it…but…I used to know…no…I _know_ how to help. I can do it. Just stay calm…just stay calm. _"No…wait," she whispered to herself as she leaned forward and pressed two fingers against the side of Madame Dubois' neck.

Not hearing his sister's quiet statement, Conner turned his head to look uneasily up at Meg. A glittering flash of pained longing pasted over his expression as he watched the tears leak out from under the blonde's tiny hands. Climbing to his feet, the redhead took a step toward the whimpering girl and touched her gently on the arm. "Here now, don't cry, lass. Don't cry…" he murmured with a careful gentleness.

Without a word Meg turned and buried her face against Conner's chest, her hands coming up to take hold of his lapels in a white-knuckled grip. "I hate that…the way people look when they die…I don't ever want to see someone else die. Dead…staring eyes…it is like a nightmare," she sobbed brokenly.

Wrapping stunned arms around Meg's trembling waist, Conner brushed a hand over the soft curls hanging down her back, confusion darkening his expression. "Hush, lass. Hush…you are safe…don't worry, I got you."

Missing the tender exchange between her friend and brother, Brielle let out an excited little yelp. "She isn't dead!" she exclaimed after pressing her ear against Madame Dubois' chest. Sitting back, a disbelieving smile pulled up one corner of her mouth as the full extent of her realization sank in. _I heard a slight murmuring…not a pulse…but there is still life. _An excited trembling worked its way out from her body, making her hands shake as she hastily rolled up her sleeves.

A moment passed before Conner snapped his head up to stare at his sister. "What?" Jerked slightly by the redhead's sudden movement, Meg raised her face to look up at his astonished expression. Blinking through her tears, she followed his gaze to gape down at Brielle.

Waving a hand wildly toward the pair, Brielle leaned forward and placed her hands, one over the other, squarely in the middle of Madame Dubois' chest. "She isn't dead yet! I know how to help her…I don't know why I didn't think of it right off…I was stupid and panicked…but I know how to help her!" she stammered, her words falling over each other in her excitement as she stiffened her elbows and pressed down firmly upon the woman's chest.

Both Conner and Meg stood gaping down at Brielle as if she had lost her mind. Slowly Meg tilted her head back to look worriedly up at Conner. A subtle uncertain look passed between the pair before Meg turned her wide brown eyes to stare at where her hands still clung to Conner's clothing. Immediately releasing his collar, a light blush began to work its way up Meg's cheeks. Seeing her growing discomfort Conner reluctantly released her. "Um, Bri…I know you want to help, but…don't you think that it is a little late to…well…"

Not pausing at all as she continued to press rhythmically against the older woman's chest, Brielle shook her head. "No…even if the heart stops…the brain can survive for several minutes. But if the heart is artificially stimulated by an outside source it is possible for it to recover and start again. She isn't dead…not yet…I just have to…get her heart back into its rhythm…" she said a little breathlessly, determinedly blocking out the crowd of people slowly inching their way up the hallway.

Glancing over his shoulder at the small group of men and women whispering a few yards behind him, Conner worried his bottom lip through his teeth. "I am not sure I understand…but if you think you can do some good…go ahead."

Merely nodding her head absently, Brielle stopped the pumping motion with her hands and leaned forward to pinch the older woman nose and cover the madame's mouth with her own. A shocked murmuring erupted in the gathered crowd as Brielle pushed a breath of air into Madame Dubois' lungs. Just as the Irishwoman sat back to resume the pumping motion, a robed man came careening around the corner, nearly tripping over the hem of his clothing as he raced down the hallway.

"Um…Bri…if you are going to do something miraculous I would suggest you do it fast…it seems someone went to get a priest," Conner stated from behind a concealing hand.

Coming to a stop, the priest bent double for a moment, his cheeks puffing out as he tried to catch his breath. Conner stepped forward then to head the man off but before the redhead could even open his mouth the holy man held up a staying hand, the authority of his gesture not diminished by the series of hacking coughs that followed it. Finally catching his breath the priest straightened, pulling uncomfortably at his collar as he looked over at Conner. With large sky blue eyes behind a pair of spectacles, a mop of curly blonde hair, and a round babyish face, the thirty-something man was not the classic image of a Catholic priest; even in his severe black robes and white collar he looked more like a country lad than anything else. And yet, despite his unorthodox appearance the man had a certain conviction in his presence. Pushing his glasses further up his nose, the blonde man gave a funny little shrug, trying to compose himself properly. Unable to see past Conner's looming body, the priest had yet to catch sight of the odd scene happening behind him.

Meg shifted uncomfortably behind Conner as the redhead crossed his arms and addressed the newcomer. "Hello, Father. Is there something I can do for you?"

Blinking owlishly through his spectacles, the young priest cleared his throat. "Yes, well…I am Father James Thomas the priest assigned to the Opera House. I was informed that someone was in need of the last rites. I came as fast as I could in these inconvenient robes and…er…no…I didn't mean to say that…they aren't inconvenient…just…" Taking a deep breath, the blue-eyed man started over. "Where is the poor soul in need of my services?"

"Ah well, that is up for some debate," Conner replied calmly, shifting his weight to the side when Father Thomas attempted to see around him.

Frowning slightly the priest pulled a small Bible out of his pocket, and opening the book he removed a folded piece of purple ribbon out of its well-used pages. Shaking a finger in Conner's direction, the ribbon waving about in his hand, Father Thomas puffed up his chest indignantly. "Now see here, you! I will not put up with the usual sort of silliness that people treat me with around here. I have a job to do and I will not allow you to disrupt the hallowed duties of my office!" he exclaimed, the severity of his words offset slightly by the blonde curls falling in front of his eyes.

Raising a hand to brush through his hair, Conner uncomfortably glanced over his shoulder at where Brielle continued to work on Madame Dubois. Father Thomas leaned to the side to follow Conner's gaze. With a disgruntled yelp the robed man pushed past the taller redhead and fell to his knees next to the prone woman. Grabbing hold of Brielle's elbow, Father Thomas tried to stop her from continuing to pump the woman's chest.

"What are you doing!" he gasped. "Leave the poor woman in peace!"

"Sorry, Father. I can't do that," Brielle muttered in response as she leaned forward and quickly pushed two breaths of air into Madame Dubois' empty lungs.

Staring at Brielle like she was possessed with the devil, Father Thomas released her arm, his mouth hanging open in shock as she continued to ignore him. "But…I have to give the madame last rites…" he said slowly, pronouncing each word with great care as if he were speaking to a wild animal.

"Do what you feel you must, Father," Brielle replied breathlessly, her slate gray eyes never looking up from her task.

Sputtering at this, the young priest looked back at where Conner and Meg stood hovering nearby. "Have you all gone mad?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Conner flashed an inappropriately wide grin. "Oh, you have no idea Father," he said evenly. "But go ahead with your work. It doesn't appear as if it will bother the lady there."

"Won't _bother_ the lady?" the priest repeated, his expressive face bunching up into a disgruntled glare. Turning the heat of his stare back to Brielle with a sharp irritated motion, Father Thomas let out an oath. "Fine…I will continue despite the lunacy which seems to have suddenly overtaken this blasted place!"

Sitting back on his haunches, his blue eyes shooting a distinctly murderous glare at all those present, Father Thomas raised the purple ribbon in his hands. Kissing the long length of silk in the middle he raised it over his head and laid it out along the back of his neck so that it hung down over his shoulders like a stole. Quickly making the sign of the cross over the prone woman, the priest began reciting the last rites in Latin. Waiting impatiently for Brielle to sit back from blowing air into Madame Dubois' lungs, Father Thomas pulled a small bottle out of his robes. Tilting the bottle upside down he wetted his finger with holy water, then, leaning forward, he traced a small cross over the older woman's forehead.

Removing his hand, the priest continued on with the ritual, his gaze never once leaving Brielle's odd actions. Coming to the end of the ceremony, Father Thomas lowered his hands to his lap. "Are you happy now? Desecrating the last rites of a deceased…surely that is…"

Continuing to ignore the man as he tried to admonish her for her actions, Brielle leaned forward to once again breathe air into the still woman's lungs. "Come on…come on!" she chanted quietly. "I know you are still in there…come on!"

Opening his mouth to continue his upbraiding, Father Thomas puffed up his cheeks in righteous anger at the exact same moment that Madame Dubois loudly sucked in a pained gasp of air. Every sound in the hallway immediately ceased as all eyes turned in disbelief to the woman lying upon the floor. A moment passed, as everyone held their breath, before Madame Dubois' chest rose again of its own volition, drawing in another lungful of air.

All signs of irritation vanishing from his face, Father Thomas gawked first at the now breathing Madame Dubois, then up to Brielle. "Holy shit…" he blurted out before clapping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment.

Sitting back, a light sheen of sweat glowing across her forehead, Brielle carefully checked Madame Dubois' vital signs. With a smile splitting her face in two, she tilted her head back to grin up at Meg and Conner, a slight look of astonishment widening her eyes. "It worked…" she breathed. Then clapping her hands together in glee she let out a shout. "It worked! It worked!"

"Lord a' mighty…" Conner said on a laugh. "One of your harebrained ideas actually worked!" A stir went through the gathered crowd as several of the stagehands took off, shouting the news about how Madame Dubois came back from the dead.

Climbing to her feet, Brielle snagged one of the retreating men by the arm. "Hey, go and get a doctor. Someone should be called to monitor her until she wakes up." Releasing the man, she stabbed a finger at two others standing nearby. "And you two…go and get a litter. She should be moved to somewhere more comfortable and warm."

"What is your name?" Father Thomas asked quietly, as he knelt, flabbergasted, next to Madame Dubois, his fingers shaking as he gently laid a hand across her forehead.

Her smile fading slightly, Brielle quickly glanced to Conner and Meg. _Whoops…I forgot for a moment. Damn…I am supposed to be keeping out of sight. Great move, Brielle!_ "Well…I…"

Hearing the hesitation in her voice, the priest glanced up at her. "Please…I have to know your name. How did you do that? She wasn't breathing…but…" Blinking through the magnification of his glasses, he took a breath, raising one hand to finger the cross hanging around his neck.

"Well…I…"

Stepping forward, Meg pushed past Conner and latched onto Brielle's arm. "I think it is time we got back to work. You are going to be way behind," the blonde said in a low voice as she tugged on Brielle's arm.

Picking up on Meg's line of thinking, Conner cleared his throat. "Oh…yes…work…we should all get back to work." Hurrying forward, he smiled toward Father Thomas as he ushered both Brielle and Meg off down the hall. "See you later Tommy. No doubt I'll come around to confession one of these days."

Protesting, Brielle tried to shrug out of Conner and Meg's grasps. "No, wait…I can't just leave Madame Dubois lying there like that. I have to…"

"You have to keep quiet and keep walking," Conner muttered to her under his breath. "You saved her life, Bri. Damn near brought the bloody woman back from the dead. Now, as far as I can see, you have done enough for today. It is bad enough that everyone is going to be talking about the cleaning lady who can raise the dead…so just keep walking."

"He is right, Brielle. Don't worry about it. They will watch out for her," Meg intoned. Behind the trio they could hear Father Thomas calling out after them but thankfully he did not follow. Picking up the pace, Meg and Conner dragged Brielle down the hall and around a corner.

"That was the craziest thing I have ever seen in my life!" Meg said after several moments of walking along in silence. "How did you learn to do that, Brielle?"

Feeling the glowing effects of the adrenaline rushing through her blood start to fade, Brielle took a shaky breath. She was beginning to feel the weight of the day's events press in on her. Raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, she leaned into her brother's embrace. "Um…before I came here I used to do medical research. On my own, of course…so I never really knew if my ideas worked…I am sorry but…I…suddenly I feel sort of tired."

"Of course you are. You have had a full day and it isn't even lunch yet. First Andrew shows up…then you disappear and Meg and I run all over this stupid place to find you…then Madame Dubois nearly falls over dead at your feet. Lord, I would be unconscious by now if I were you," Conner chatted easily, his glittering eyes turning every once in a while to glance over his shoulder. "I don't think Madame Dubois would mind if you took the rest of the day off."

"Oh my gosh!" Meg piped up then. "Who do you think they will get to replace Madame Dubois' position. Surely she won't be able to work after taking so suddenly ill. Maybe they will ask you to run the place, Brielle!"

Laughing at that, the Irishwoman shook her head; glad to have something to distract her churning mind. "I hope not. Most likely they will choose someone with more experience than me. I know of one woman who has been here for over twenty years."

"Do you mean that old gypsy lady, Marie? She has been here forever! Yes…I suppose that makes sense. She has been here the longest. Though it is a running joke that she knows black magic," Meg said thoughtfully.

"I highly doubt that that poor old woman actually knows black magic. I have met her before…she was sort of crotchety but nothing menacing," Brielle replied vaguely, her mind turning unwittingly away from the current conversation to worry over everything that had happened that day. _I think I need some time to think everything over. Lord, Erik is enough to drive me crazy. It might take the rest of my life to figure that man out. I was so shocked by what he was saying that I don't think I truly realized what was going on. I should be furious…and I am…but I don't think it has really hit me yet. He broke my heart…broke my family's heart…yet…though logic fights against him…I feel almost as if…as if deep down that all this while that my soul has been longing for his return. God…what is wrong with me!_

"By the way, Bri, where did you go after you left the stage earlier? We had the devil of a time trying to find you," Conner asked lightly, his eyes trailing pointedly down to the oversized black cloak she had around her shoulders.

Following his gaze, Brielle glanced down at herself, shock rippling through her system. _I forgot to give it back to him…God with everything that was happening I even forgot I had it on!_ "Um…"

"AH! I should have known!" Meg exclaimed suddenly as she leaned over to run the hem of Erik's cloak between her fingers. "You were hiding in the costume department, weren't you? That _would_ be the perfect place to disappear into. The woman who runs it practically has every inch of it stuffed full of extra cloth and finished projects. Good thinking, Brielle!"

Not wanting to admit to what had actually happened, Brielle merely nodded her head. "Yes, the costume department…I grabbed hold of this in case I ended up needing a disguise. Fortunately, though, I didn't. By the way…whatever happened to Andrew? Is he still in the building?" she asked, effectively changing the subject.

Eyeing Brielle with one raised eyebrow, obviously not believing her story about her hiding place, Conner cut in. "No, I think he has left by now. He left a contract for the managers to sign, so I don't think he planned to stay very long after they had finished their tour."

"Good…though if he is planning on being the patron, it is going to present a whole mess of problems. I will have to always be watching for when he is coming around…" Brielle began as she worried her bottom lip through her teeth. _As if I don't have enough on my mind already!_

"No, I don't think that is going to be a problem," Conner said evenly.

"Hmm? Why not?"

"Well, before I stormed off, he said that he wouldn't be here for the reopening. He has business in England or something, and will be away most of the time. Which is a small miracle. I don't think we will have worry too much about him. At first I was afraid that he suspected something, but now I am pretty sure he doesn't. You have the best blasted luck of anyone I have ever met, Bri!"

Rolling her eyes, Brielle shook her head. _If you only knew…_ "I think I am going to go lie down for a little while. Everything that has happened has worn me out."

"All right, you deserve a little rest. Don't worry about anything…just get some rest," Conner said, patting his sister on the shoulder gently.

"Aria is taking a nap in the kitchen. Just make sure she doesn't run off and get into some sort of trouble. If you need me I will be in the dormitories," Brielle said as she stepped away from Conner's support. Walking slowly down the hall, leaving Conner and Meg behind her, she raised a hand to press against the side of her head.

A thousand conflicting thoughts jumbled for space within her mind, making it nearly impossible to separate them into any sort of order. _At least Andrew will not be around…that is one less thing to worry about. I can't believe I forgot to give Erik his cloak back…now I will definitely have to see him again…everything is just happening too fast. I don't know if I can keep up…I find out that Erik used to be the Phantom of the Opera…that he killed people…that he dropped the chandelier onto all those poor people last year. _

Her heart shrank from the thought that her former friend was in fact a murderer. Pausing to lean tiredly against a nearby wall, Brielle closed her eyes. _A murderer…_The reality of this concept sent chills down her spine but she found a part of herself rise up to defend him.

_He did say it was all in self-defense. And that he had rigged the chandelier to fall away from the audience,_ she reminded herself avidly, trying all the while not to dwell on why it comforted her so much to think thus. _Am I letting my anger at him cloud my judgment? Am I judging him too harshly? Maybe…but I can't shake the feeling that he isn't telling me everything. There was something he was leaving out…I just can't put my finger on what it was. Maybe it had to do with that girl he spoke of. Christine…he said he had loved her…perhaps he still does. _

An unexpected spike of jealousy shot violently through her system as Brielle recalled just how pretty the young singer had been the few times she had seen her. "Blast!" she breathed as she jerked open the door to her room. "All right…that is enough. Obviously I am overwrought. Don't think about it anymore…think about it tomorrow…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A few days later Brielle still found herself no closer to a definite answer. Thankfully Erik had not made another appearance; apparently he was either avoiding her or giving her some space, some time to think. _Too bad I am too stupid to make up my own mind,_ she thought bitterly as she attacked the tarnished silver serving tray in her hands with a polishing rag. _No amount of time will fix that._ Setting the tray down before she dented the stupid thing, Brielle rose from her seat and tossed the rag to the floor. Leaving her half-finished job behind, she strode out the door to wander down the hall.

_At least no one as noticed my lack of focus. The cleaning department still doesn't have a new supervisor since Andre and Firmin can't make up their minds. And of course Madame Dubois is still recovering at the hospital. _Aimlessly making her way down several empty corridors, Brielle came to a stop when she heard a telltale shriek which no doubt meant Carlotta was somewhere in the vicinity. Tilting her head to the side, Brielle listened carefully to the god-awful sound, not wanting to run into the diva unawares. After several minutes ticked by, the argument came to a stop; petering off into silence.

Satisfied that the Italian singer had taken off to go and pout in her dressing room, Brielle turned the corner to continue on in her vague roaming. _I don't want to believe him…because I know if I believe him I will eventually forgive him… and right now I don't want to ever forgive him. The only thing that bothers me about Erik's story is that he seemed so sincere. Of course, sincerity can be fabricated…but…the look in his eyes, a terror like he was balancing on the edge of a precipice, and I was about to push him over…and the way he spoke had none of his usual articulation. He wasn't himself…and it is that over all other things that makes me want to believe him. _She came to an abrupt stop when she nearly ran face first into a taller black-haired woman. Carlotta let out a startled squeak as she raised a hand to steady the garish hat balancing precariously atop her head.

"What do you-a tink you are doin!" the diva huffed in outrage, as her dark eyes focused in on Brielle's face. Slowly the temper faded from her imperial features as she stared down at the Irishwoman. "It is you! You are-a de one who pushed me dat day de sandbags fell."

Frozen like a deer in a hunter's sights, Brielle found her mind going completely blank. She had been caught. "Um…no, you must have me confused with someone else." Ducking her head, Brielle turned away quickly, trying to escape Carlotta's sharp dark eyes.

Reaching out, the diva took hold of Brielle's arm in an iron grip, spinning the Irishwoman around so that they were face-to-face again. "No! You are de one! I do not-a forget faces. I recognize your eyes. Dey are dat strange light color. How do you say…eh…gray?"

Realizing she couldn't get out of this situation, Brielle squared her shoulders and tilted her chin up in an attempt at bravado. "Fine…I admit it. It was me that day. What of it? Surely you cannot blame me for being too rough. I was trying to get you out of the way so that…"

Waving a hand in Brielle's face, Carlotta motioned for her to be quiet. "I am not-a stupid. I know you saved me. I 'ave been-a looking for you. I 'ave asked many for your name but no one knew."

"No, no one would know the name of a cleaning lady," Brielle snapped, jerking her arm out of Carlotta's grip. Confused by the diva's statement, she rubbed absently at her stinging arm. "What did you want so badly that you have been asking around for me?" she asked warily.

Frowning over Brielle's impertinence, Carlotta pursed her lips into a thin line. "I do not-a like your tone."

"Then be off with you! I have work to do and not enough time to do it in," she lied as she turned to leave. Stopped once again by a hand on her arm, Brielle sighed.

"No, do not go," Carlotta exclaimed with none of the normal whine in her tone; an odd desperation had leaked into her words, causing Brielle to turn back around. "Pl…Please…" the singer continued, stumbling over the rarely used word. "I must-a speak to you. It is very important! I 'ave a job for you…to work for me."

Shocked into silence, Brielle could only stare at Carlotta with her mouth hanging open. Scanning the taller woman's face for any sign of duplicity she found none; only a frantic sort of fear glittered in Carlotta's dark eyes, pulling the corners of her mouth down into a grimace. Gathering her composure, Brielle cautiously looked about at their surroundings, hoping no one else was around to see this odd exchange. "What do you mean, a job?" she finally asked slowly.

Leaning in close so that she was almost eye level with Brielle, Carlotta cleared her throat. "I know what you-a are," she whispered shakily. "You knew about-a de bags before dey fell. You 'ave de sight…I know you do."

A sharp spike of fear drove itself through Brielle's mind at Carlotta's words. She had been called a witch before by others on the cleaning staff but this was different, this wasn't an accusation or an insult. The Italian singer thoroughly believed in what she said, and that conviction was frightening. "I don't know what you could…"

"You 'elped me dat day because you saw de danger. I must 'ave you work for me. I 'ate dis place. Too many memories, too many dangers…" she continued, her eyes flickering away from Brielle's face to glance fearfully into a shadowed corner. "I 'ate dis place…"

The initial sliver of fear faded as pity bloomed within her heart. _This isn't at all what I expected. Perhaps she isn't as one-dimensional as I thought. _"I am not a fortune teller…" Brielle began gently. "I don't think that I can help you…I…"

"Don't be modest, child…" a wizened old voice admonished from behind the two women. Jumping at the unexpected sound, both Brielle and Carlotta let out twin squeaks of surprise. Turning toward the voice, Brielle let out a relieved sigh when she recognized the birdlike figure of the woman standing there.

"Marie, by God, you startled me. What are you doing here?" Brielle asked nervously.

Ignoring Brielle's question, the old woman came forward, sidling up to the Irishwoman's side, her eyes bright as she smiled up at Carlotta. "She is just being modest. It is always best for those with her gifts to be so…for their own protection, you understand." When Marie paused expectantly Carlotta relaxed slightly, and nodded her head in understanding.

Flabbergasted, Brielle shot an irritated glare in Marie's direction. "Marie, I don't think that…"

Waving a wrinkled hand under Brielle's nose, the older woman shook her iron gray head, indicating that she should be quiet. "But since you are offering her a position, she would be glad to take it."

"What!" Brielle burst out angrily. "No…I don't think…"

"Of course there will be some rules," Marie continued, patting Brielle's hand as the Irishwoman puffed up indignantly. "She will require her own quarters for herself and her daughter. It takes a great deal of concentration to peer into the future and she will need a room of her own for the quiet."

Believing every word, Carlotta nodded enthusiastically, apparently happy now that she sensed she would soon have her own personal fortune teller in her employ. Continuing on without much of a pause, Marie raised up a knotted finger for emphasis. "Her current salary is also unacceptable…you will pay her…er…five times what she is earning as a cleaning lady."

"Five times?" Carlotta asked, her accepting nod coming to an abrupt stop. "Dat is more than I pay everyone else dat works for me!"

"Yes, and she will be doing far more than everyone else who works for you," Marie shot back quickly. "And that is another thing. She will not be your servant…you will not have the power to ask whatever you want of her. She will have one job and one only."

"Fine…Fine. Do we a have a deal?" Carlotta snapped, wringing her hands nervously in front of her stomach.

Instead of answering, Marie turned to look at Brielle. "What do you say? Will you accept a job where you will have your own room and better pay?"

"Well, I…" Looking back and forth between the old woman at her side and Carlotta, Brielle opened and closed her mouth uncertainly. _I don't know what game Marie is playing. I can't look into a crystal ball or anything. But…maybe that doesn't matter…for five times my salary now I could tell a little lie. Then I would have enough money to set aside for emergencies…this could be a blessing in disguise. _"Yes, I will accept the job…if you honor all of the guidelines Marie pointed out," Brielle finally said, finding it much easier than she had thought to fall into the lie.

A relieved smile flickered across Carlotta's face before being hidden behind her usual arrogant sneer. "All right den…I know what room you can 'ave since it is empty right now. Pack up your things and take them to de room at de end of de dressing room hallway. You will know it is de right room because ov de mirror. I will come by in a few days. Be ready by den to begin your work." Turning sharply, Carlotta swept out of the hallway, nearly losing her hat as she disappeared around a corner.

Rounding on Marie, Brielle fisted her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with the annoyance she had been holding in until that moment. "What were you thinking! I am not a fortune teller! Why would you set me up like that? I hardly had any choice but to accept her offer!"

Unaffected by Brielle's temper, Marie raised a handkerchief to her face and gave a little cough. "I was returning the kindness you showed me a while ago, when you helped me carry my bucket up the stairs. I didn't want you to give up this opportunity. Use this all to your advantage. Chances like this do not come very often to people like us. Second chances are rare for anyone, really."

Her anger fading slightly, Brielle relaxed her battle stance. "This may create a whole new set of problems…" she said slowly.

"Then you can deal with them as they come to you," Marie replied as she laid a hand on Brielle's arm, leading her down the hall. "Don't worry…there are two things I plan on teaching you. First, you have to learn to lie better. And second, you have to learn how to put on a show…maybe I will teach you how to read the cards."

Not sure she had heard correctly, Brielle turned to look down at the woman leading her along. "What cards?"

"Why Tarot cards, you silly girl. I am going to turn you into a Gypsy fortune teller just as sure if you were born one. Have you ever been to a Gypsy show before?"

Opening her mouth to respond in the negative, Brielle stopped suddenly. A vague, half-formed image flickered to life within her head, giving her pause. Concentrating, she could make out the insides of a ragged yellow tent and the looming shadows of a large crowd. Shaking off the strange memory, and the feeling of anxiety that came with it, she gathered her wits enough to respond.

"No, I have never been to a Gypsy show before." Then, remembering what sort of things that were displayed in that type of show, Brielle hardened her features. "Nor do I ever care to," she snapped.

Carefully eyeing her from under her steel gray eyebrows Marie merely shook her head. "Don't you get all uppity with me, young lady. Never mind about your feelings on their practices, girl. They know how to make money…that is all you need care about. So get over it for the sake of your future."

Pursing her lips together, Brielle bit down on whatever else it was she was going to say. "Fine…consider it forgotten."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Late that same night Brielle turned over in her bed, finding it difficult to go to sleep in her new surroundings. In the weeks since she had come to the Opera she had grown used to the loud snoring of the other women on the cleaning staff. Now only Aria's soft breathing a few feet away and the rhythmic beating of her own heartbeat in her ears filled the still air. The quiet of her new room was a little disquieting but it was the illusion of isolation that the silence provided which bothered her. Though the room was set in between two others, the thick stone of its walls kept out any intruding sounds. It made her almost miss the noises of other living people. At least then she knew that she wasn't completely on her own.

Giving up her attempt at rest, Brielle finally sat up. Throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, she tapped her toes against the floor in frustration. Reaching up she brushed a wayward piece of snow white hair behind one ear. Smiling slightly, she pulled her braid over her shoulder, twisting its length absently between her fingers. It had been a long time since she had felt free enough to be without the disguising protection of her dark wig. She was enjoying every minute she had alone now, for it meant that she could be free of the thing's constant itching.

Sighing, Brielle glanced absently at the mammoth mirror hanging directly across from her bed. Her own reflection stared back at her, standing out like a white beacon against the dark background. Finding the life-sized image of herself slightly unsettling, Brielle hunched her shoulders, straightening the neckline of her nightgown self-consciously. Biting her bottom lip, she stood quietly and went to the wardrobe and pulled out a satin dressing gown and a large scarf to wrap over her hair. Pausing for a moment, she ran her hand along the line of plain, but well cut, dresses hanging within. Earlier that day while she had been moving her things into her room, a young girl had dropped off several boxes of pre-made clothing with a note that stated her current style of dressing was not acceptable for one in the employ of an international diva. Laughing silently to herself over the arrogance of the gesture, Brielle turned and sneaked out the door.

Walking along the dark corridors, she skirted around several groups of the cleaning staff, having no interest in meeting up with the ladies or their sharp-tongued insults. Not really knowing where exactly she was heading, just that she needed to walk, Brielle found herself moving out of the backstage area and into the large front rooms of the Opera. Feeling a little out of place in the echoing marble halls she purposely quieted her steps as she gazed about at her surroundings. _Funny, I haven't really had the time to notice before now…but this place is really very beautiful._

Humming to herself, she passed a set of double doors with a small, discreet plaque hanging over them. Doing a double take, Brielle stopped her wandering and leaned in to squint through the darkness at the small bronze sign. _Library…Lord, I didn't even know there was a library here._ Pursing her lips in thought, she shrugged her shoulders. _Well, most likely it will be packed full of boring music books or something…but maybe I will find something to help me sleep._ Reaching out she opened the door and stepped inside.

Feeling more than seeing the massive size of the room around her, Brielle paused just inside the doors. This room was far darker than the rest of the Opera as the drapes over the windows were all tightly shut, each one allowing only a sliver of moonlight to filter through. Stepping further into the library, Brielle held her hands out before her to help guide her way. Running into the edge of a table, she let out an expressive Irish curse as she rubbed her offended hip. Hesitantly running a hand over the cool surface of the table she stumbled across a matchbook and kerosene lamp. Smiling at her luck, she was on the verge of lighting the lamp when a large gloved hand slid over her mouth.

Jumping at the touch, she screamed against the muffling hand as another hand came out and gently wrapped around her upper arm. "Shh, it is me," Erik's familiar baritone hissed through the darkness as he removed his hand from her mouth.

Sagging in relief, Brielle turned in his grip and punched him in the ribs. "You scared the breath right out of me! Make some noise when you move, you blasted man!"

"Ow…I didn't mean to startle you…sorry," he grunted as he reached up to rub at the spot where she had hit him.

Not liking the intimacy the darkness provided, Brielle quickly turned and struck a match, lighting the lamp on the table. Glancing back at the man still half cloaked in shadows behind her, she tried to hold onto the anger that her fear had sparked. "How did you know that was me and not some other person? You can't just go around grabbing people in the dark!"

One corner of his mouth tilted up into the shadow of a smirk. "I knew it was you before I touched you…I am not stupid. I wouldn't have shown myself to just anyone."

Feeling that he was somehow laughing at her, Brielle drew herself up to her full height, pulling the edges of her dressing gown tighter about her waist as she did so. "Oh, and how did you know?" she snapped haughtily.

Erik took a step forward, into the light of the lamp. A smile flickered across his face briefly before being purposely squashed. "How many people in this place would say something like 'May six horse-loads of graveyard clay fall upon the shit-brained fool who put this table here'?" he asked with the shrug of one shoulder, the smile fighting its way back onto his face.

"Well…I…" she stumbled as a blush worked its way up to stain her cheeks pink.

"After I heard you speak I didn't want to startle you by simply saying something out of nowhere."

"I think you failed in the whole not scaring me part."

"Yes, I suppose so," he agreed, his eyes momentarily leaving her face to travel down along informal state of her dress. Clearing his throat, he glanced away, looking lightly embarrassed for a moment before schooling his features into impassive lines. "What are you doing wandering around the Opera this late at night? Could you not sleep?"

"No," she said on a sigh, feeling herself relax in his presence despite her want to remain alert.

"You should not worry so much," Erik said after a moment of hesitation. "It will make you ill, brooding over everything."

"Yeah, you are one to lecture about brooding," Brielle snorted. "But that isn't why I couldn't sleep. My new room is just so quiet…I suppose it will take a while for me to get used to it."

His one visible eyebrow drew down into a frown over her words. "New room?" he asked lightly, trying to cover up the fact of his ignorance.

"What, don't you know?" she responded. "Oh sweet heavens…you aren't omnipresent then? Thank God!" Sniffing over her sarcasm, Erik crossed his arms. "Fine, don't get all huffy," she said after a moment. "Today I was hired for another job. A stipulation made before I took it was that Aria and I would get our own room."

"Ah…" he said simply, looking highly irritated that he was ignorant of this development.

Feeling slightly uncomfortable in the silence that fell after his one syllable reply, Brielle opened her mouth and barreled on. "Not that I wanted the change or anything. But I was sort of forced into it…"

Looking up at that, a dark glitter flashed behind his eyes. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to…I'll make sure of that…" he bit out harshly.

Startled by this sudden change in his mood, Brielle crossed her arms across her stomach. _So the Phantom shows his face once again…_ "No…I didn't mean to say forced against my will. It is just that I am not sure that I am qualified."

The shadows guttered out in his eyes as he shifted his weight to his other foot. "I am sure you can do whatever you put your mind to," he said stiffly, making a monumental effort to choose his words carefully.

"Yes, but that isn't the problem. You see, Carlotta expects me to be some sort of fortune teller and…"

"Carlotta? Carlotta hired you!" he blurted out, interrupting her.

Nodding she continued. "Yes, I think she is afraid the Phantom has it out for her. She felt the need to secure a person with the second sight into her employ in order to stay safe…she doesn't have a reason to be afraid, does she?" Brielle added after watching some nameless emotion dance across his normally guarded face.

Letting out an expletive, Erik shot her a furious glare over her insinuation before turning on his heel and stalking off; throwing himself into a chair a few yards away he raised a hand to rub at his temple, making an obvious effort to control his ire. "No…that puffed up peacock has no need to fear me. I don't hold any sort of deep hatred for her simply because she cannot sing properly."

Grabbing up the lantern, Brielle followed him across the room, sitting down in a chair set across from his. The knot of her head scarf loosened slightly at her hasty movement, allowing a lock of her white hair to pull free. "Can you blame me for finding a need to ask that question?" she demanded, feeling as if she had to defend herself for asking it. The expression of hopelessness now tightening his features made her suddenly feel the villain.

"Yes," he snapped before tightening the leash on his temper. "No…I didn't mean that. I suppose it just caught me off guard."

"What did?"

"You being afraid of me," he growled, looking up at her from between his fingers, his eyes gleaming like cut glass in the lamplight.

Guilt threatened to spring to life within her breast as she gaped across the few feet between them. _Damn it…don't feel guilty…if he suffers some mild bout of emotional turmoil then it serves him right! _Sitting up straighter in her chair, Brielle physically bristled. "And don't I have the right to ask a simple question! You act like you expect everything to go back to the way things were."

"And what is wrong with that?"

Raising both hands to her head she pulled off her head scarf in frustration, her loose braid falling down over one shoulder. "You are impossible! You have no idea how hard it is for me just to talk to you without going insane. Every time I see you it feels as if someone has plunged a knife into my heart…as if I am being torn apart from the inside out. I don't know what to think when it comes to you…you damned bastard!" she exploded, nearly coming out of her chair from the riotous force of her emotions.

Dropping his hand down to the arm of his chair, Erik stared at her limply in shock. "Well…I…"

"As far as I am concerned," Brielle continued. "You are lucky that I am as civil as I am. I waited for three months for you to come back…sat by the bleeding window like an idiot. And then for six months now I have prayed to God to make me forget you…" she continued, the horror over what she was revealing to him slowly clenching the air from her lungs, but she couldn't seem to make herself stop.

Sitting silent for what seemed like eons, staring at her all the while with his soul-piercing eyes, Erik finally shifted in his chair. "Forgive me…" he said softly. "I forget sometimes to take into consideration the feelings of others. After being alone for so long…I suppose I am impatient for human contact…or maybe it is…" Looking suddenly aghast over what he had been about to say, the masked man clenched his mouth shut.

Annoyed that he had more control over himself than she did, Brielle let out a gusty sigh and sat back in her seat. "What…for God's sake just say it. It isn't like we have any more secrets to keep from each other anymore."

"I simply thought it inappropriate to say to you considering the way this conversation is going."

Stabbing a finger across the room at him, Brielle narrowed her gray eyes to twin steely slits. "Say it!" she hissed dangerously.

Wincing at the tone of her voice, Erik eyed her warily. "I was only going to add that maybe I am just impatient to have you around all the time. I didn't realize how much I missed talking to you until after I had left. It sounds stupid…but I had grown accustomed to you being there. It felt…empty without you there."

Not expecting him to say anything so personal, Brielle lowered her hand to her side. Her temper settling down into the background of her mind, she once again questioned her sanity. _What is wrong with me? Why can't I just shake him off…forget him? God…I felt it just the way he described…like he had become a part of me…and after he left it felt…empty. I am losing my mind…remember, Brielle…he can be dangerous…he could hurt you…he…has the saddest eyes I have ever seen in my life._

Turning her face away from the sight of him, hoping that in doing so she would find some semblance of control painted across the floorboards. "What were you doing in here in the first place," she asked, changing the subject quickly away from the dangerous road down which it had been going. _Given another minute talking like that…and who knows what I might have said!_

Blinking at her for a moment as if he was having difficulty following the conversation, Erik opened his jacket and pulled out two leather-bound books. "I had just come to return these when you wandered in," he said, likewise looking relieved at the change in conversation.

Standing, Brielle crossed the small space between them to take the two books out of his grip. Glancing at the titles she felt confused surprise flashed over her expressions. "A Gaelic dictionary? And…'Modern Innovations in Medicine'? What in the world did you want with these? I half expected you to be reading something about music…or architecture…"

Clearing his throat, Erik stood, stuffing his hands casually into his pockets. "I have many interests…" he stated vaguely, the tone of his voice beginning to relax.

Poking him with the corner of one of the books, Brielle rolled her eyes. "A dictionary of Gaelic is interesting? Is this what you have been doing the last few days? Reading strange books?"

Looking irritated at her disbelief, Erik snatched the book back from her. "I wanted to have several subjects that I could discuss with you. Seeing as your native language is Gaelic I thought it would be appropriate. And I happen to have a renewed interest the medical field."

Finding his guarded answer highly revealing, Brielle felt a smile pull up on the corners of her mouth. _He was studying so as to have something safe to say…something that wouldn't be strained…a common interest._ Something about his quiet concern to guard her against any awkwardness was touching. It gently ate away at the ice she so desperately wanted to keep her heart shrouded in. _I forgot how shy he could be…it is…adorable. _Shocked at her wayward thoughts, Brielle realized she had been staring up at him dreamily for far too long.

"Why a renewed interest in medicine?"

"Because of what you did to Madame Dubois…" he said enthusiastically, genuine excitement making his eyes flash bright in the shadowed room. "I have never seen anything like it. She had stopped breathing…and I heard you say that that she had no pulse. But in just eight minutes she was breathing again!"

Somehow knowing he had been watching made her extremely self conscious. "You saw that?"

"Yes, it was like watching something out of a play rather than real life. I remember you explained how such a thing would work…but it was a completely different matter to see it played out before my very eyes."

His excitement was contagious, for Brielle found herself clapping her hands together and unconsciously leaning closer to him, the hem of her dressing gown brushing against the tops of his highly polished shoes. "I was so scared…I didn't know if it would work!"

"Don't lie…" he said with a smile. "You are the bravest person I know. After all, you put up with me…"

"Yes, and I am applying for sainthood next week…" she shot back with a laugh.

Smiling over her barb, Erik's eyes flickered to her hair. Something in his expression changed, the smile slid from his face as he reached up and ran his fingers lightly over the length of one lock of hair. "What were you doing to your hair?"

"I was wearing a wig…" she breathed, caught up for a moment in the stormy blue of his eyes. "I thought it was better to cover up the white…"

"Good, I am glad it wasn't permanent…I like the white."

Her breath froze in her chest as she waited for him to take the one step it would take to close the distance between them. Every cell in her body waited…and waited, but he never moved, and Brielle sucked in a terrified breath. _I want him to kiss me…oh my god…oh my god…I am going insane. _Turning her face away from him, she felt rather than saw his hand fall back to his side.

"I should go…" she said shakily. "I will have to get up early tomorrow and learn how to be a fortune teller from Marie. So I should….go…"

"Brielle…" Erik said hastily as she turned and fled across the room towards the doors. "What did I say?"

"Nothing…" she said with a wave of her hand. _I have to get out of here! _she thought, the panic now clouding her mind to the point where she had to struggle for several moments to throw the doors open. "I will see you later! Good night…"

She heard him make a small sound of protest as she ran out the library doors, but he did not follow. Racing blindly down the massive stone corridors of the Opera's front rooms, Brielle came to a breathless stop near the grand staircase. Falling against the cool marble of one of the many columns, she pressed her burning face against the smooth, wit-saving stone. _Oh my god…oh my god…this can't be happening…it can't be happening…_

Raising her flushed face to look unseeing down at the floor Brielle felt weak as a terrible realization washed over her senses; leaving her reeling and panicky in its wake. Covering her mouth with one hand, she bit down hard upon her bottom lip to keep a dismayed gasp from slipping out of her mouth. _This is the worst thing that could happen! NO…NO…_

_I still love him._


	49. Confessions

**Hey everyone! I am horrified at how long it has taken to get this chapter up! The main reason behind the delay is that I have had some major computer problems over the last few weeks. I was lucky that I was able to retrieve the chapter before my computer completely shut down. Gah! That said I would like to thank you all for being so patient. **

**Of course this chapter wouldn't have been possible without the huge help of my wonderful Beta Terpsichore314. She is wonderful and I just can't praise her enough for her hard work!**

**Thanks to all of my reviewers! You guys are great and I love, love, love, discussing the story with you and hearing your thoughts!**

**Oh and before I forget I have to mention another great pic from IHeartPoto. It is at this site if you would like to see it. Oh and you will have to remove the spaces for it to work. **

**http/ i42. photobucket. com/ albums/ e317/ IHeartPOTO/ UGFinal.jpg**

**So check it out and tell me what you think! I like to send your comments on to her…sort of like her reviews. Or just send her your comments if you like! Whatever! (Oh and to UAEgal I tried sending you the pics but they bounced back from the email you gave me…maybe you misspelled it or something…but I am willing to try again if you still want to see them!)**

**But anyway enjoy the chapter!**

Chapter 49: Confessions

Kneeling silently near the back of the empty chapel, Brielle worriedly ran the beads of a rosary between her fingers. Looking up at the image of Christ upon the cross hanging over the modest altar in the front of the room, she let out a shaky breath, pressing her folded hands against the butterflies bouncing about inside her stomach. Tracing her gaze down from Christ's peaceful expression to a small rack of candles off to the left, she stared into the lit flames, hoping to find some sort of serenity or understanding within their light.

She had spent the entire night lying awake in her bed, staring at her own reflection in the giant mirror within her room, haunted by four terrible words. _I still love him._ The hours had ticked by slowly, morning coming before any clarity found its way into her head. She had no idea what to do with this new realization, with the new feelings flooding her body and overwhelming her senses.

When Aria had awoken that morning, Brielle remembered helping her child dress before walking her down to the schoolroom, all the while numb with fatigue and emotional strain. Almost as if sensing her mother's distress, Aria had gone quietly, without her usual mischievousness, her gray eyes carefully watching Brielle's every expression. It had been a little unnerving how knowing her daughter's gaze had seemed to be. Having shaken off the feeling, Brielle had quickly returned to her room, but no sooner had she arrived than Marie suddenly appeared with a stack of brightly decorated cards and a lecture to explain their meanings. The lesson hadn't lasted long when Marie had grown disgusted over Brielle's lack of focus, and left in a huff, leaving the cards behind in her haste to depart.

Shifting her weight upon her knees, Brielle lowered her gaze to the stone floor. She had come to the chapel to try and clear her muddled head, but so far no moment of tranquility had descended upon her. Sighing, Brielle stopped running the rosary through her fingers and stuffed the long string of beads into her pocket. _I don't know what I expected. Maybe a little divine intervention…or maybe just a little advice would be welcome. What does one do when they realize they are in love with an entirely unsuitable man? What does one do? Perhaps if I just don't say I love him aloud it won't be real. Don't say it out loud…_

Glaring now at the crucifixion at the front of the room, Brielle heaved a sigh and climbed to her feet. "This is stupid…I shouldn't be asking for this type of help. What was I thinking?"

"Perhaps you were merely seeking a little guidance?" a pleasantly masculine voice inquired from behind her.

Spinning around with a start, Brielle recognized the drably dressed figure walking through the chapel door. "Father Thomas…I didn't think anyone was here," she blurted, guiltily looking about the room for a way to escape the priest's agreeable blue-eyed gaze.

Coming further into the room, the slightly older man flashed her a kind smile, obviously picking up on her discomfort. "I always give confession at this time…though I have to admit most days I don't do anything other than read," he said as he held up a small leather-bound book for emphasis. When Brielle only wrung her hands nervously, he lowered the book back to his side. "You don't have to be so on edge. I am not in the business of attacking those who come to pray in my chapel."

Realizing how silly she was acting, Brielle purposely relaxed her shoulders. "Of course not, Father. I wouldn't think such a thing…" Trailing off she lowered her eyes to the floor, hoping against hope that the priest wouldn't recognize her from when they had fought over Madame Dubois' unconscious body.

After a moment of hesitation, Father Thomas adjusted his glasses. "Will you finally tell me your name? I have been wondering for some time now who it was exactly who revived Madame Dubois."

Stiffening at where his words were going, Brielle quickly interrupted him. "I am sorry, Father, but I really should be going. There is always work to be done around here."

Tilting his head to the side, the blond haired man merely peered at her through his thick spectacles. "Now, now…" he began, pulling uncomfortably at his collar. "I know that I was a little unfriendly before, but that doesn't mean that we can't start over. Whatever reservations you have are absolutely unfounded. I am a priest after all…if you can trust anyone it is me," he finished with a funny lopsided smile.

Feeling completely moronic for the mistrust she had initially treated this obviously kind man with, Brielle let out a sigh. Stepping forward, she held out her hand to the priest, a hesitant smile lightening her features. "Sorry, Father…I have had a strenuous last few days. I am not acting myself and I fear I have been rude to you."

Taking her offered hand lightly, Father Thomas shrugged slightly, laughter glittering within his magnified sky blue eyes. "If you think you were rude you should see what some of the others do to me," he said with a chuckle. "The last priest assigned to the Opera didn't even last two weeks. Although…he was sort of a stuffy old bastar…" Releasing Brielle's hand, Father Thomas grimaced slightly. "Oops, I shouldn't have said that. He was a fine man."

A laugh bubbled up the back of Brielle's throat as she watched Father Thomas's face go red with embarrassment. For a moment her troubled thoughts settled into the back of her mind, allowing her a moment of freedom from the fog of apprehension she had been operating under the whole day. "My name is Brielle Dono…Donner, Father. I am sorry I didn't tell you before. I suppose the crowd just made me nervous."

Nodding in understanding, the priest moved past Brielle and walked to the front of the room where he tidied up the matches and unused candles near the altar. Turning back around to face her, he brushed a few curls of his hair out of his eyes. "I understand that. Rumors can spread pretty quickly backstage. Is that what you are worried about?"

The smile flickered then guttered out upon her face. "Worried? What makes you think that…" she murmured as all her pent-up confusion crashed in over her thoughts again.

"I may be a priest, Madame Donner, but I am not stupid. I know worry when I see it," he said, shaking his finger in her direction as a slight concerned frown creased his brow.

Relaxing again, the Irishwoman mustered up another smile for the priest's benefit. _How strange that it took me so long to discover one of the nicest residents of this place. Of course, most of the people I worked with were not very religious. They wouldn't have had a reason to talk about him. I wish they had…it is always helpful to have someone to talk to… _ Nodding slightly, Brielle looked toward the door, then back at where Father Thomas was standing staring at her in concern. _Well I was asking for some guidance…maybe it is right in front of my face._

"Did you say that you normally give confession around this time?" she asked slowly.

"Hmm…yes," he replied.

"Could you possibly take my confession today then?" she asked hesitantly, wondering all the while if this was the right thing to do.

Brightening, Father Thomas came back down the aisle towards her. "Absolutely I can. Come this way," he said excitedly, leading the way to the confessional booth in the corner before Brielle had the time to rethink what she was doing. Assuming a more serious expression, he opened one of the doors for her before stepping through the other and closing it behind him.

Trapped in her chosen course of action, Brielle took a deep breath and stepped into the confessional booth, closing the door behind her. Taking a seat, she waited anxiously for Father Thomas to slide open the veiled connecting window between the two small rooms. _Is this a mistake? Can I trust…Lord, Brielle, have you become so cynical that you can't trust a priest? He is a man of God…perhaps some good will come of talking about things. It isn't like I have to mention names. This is a confession…not just any old chat. _The small window slid open with a soft snick just then, making her jump slightly.

Clearing her throat and gathering her thoughts, Brielle bowed her head. "Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been six months since my last confession."

"So long? No wonder you have so many worries," the priest said almost conversationally from the other side of the barrier. "Just start wherever you like, then. What is most on your mind?"

"I hardly know where to start," Brielle muttered to herself, leaning her head back against the wall behind her. _Most on my mind…there is only one thing that is most on my mind. No! Don't think about it…don't say it out loud._ "I have found myself allowing my temper to get away with me. It happens much too often and I know I should exhibit more control." _Though Erik certainly deserves every single time I scream at him,_ Brielle mentally grumped to herself, her eyes narrowing at the thought.

"Is there one particular person that incites your anger or many?" Father Thomas asked evenly.

Taking a breath to reply, Brielle clamped her mouth shut when she realized she was going to mention the man who most taxed her nerves. "No one in particular," she said instead. "Some of the other women here can be rather catty. I simply allow them to get under my skin."

"By allowing yourself to meet their insensitivity with malice you give your aggressors power over you. It is only by a conscious decision that you fall into anger's trap. We are taught to forgive those who trespass against us not to meet them with temper. Do you understand?"

Sitting up a little straighter, Brielle's mouth pinched into an irritated line. _Oh that is easy to say. Forgiveness is always something to strive for…unless of course the blasted man you are supposed to forgive is such a confusing ass that you can't even see straight when he is in the room._ "Yes, I understand…it is just that it is difficult to always find it in my heart to be so understanding; especially when _someone_ is being difficult. Besides it isn't like he _should_ be forgiven right away. Things should not be so easy for him."

"Now it sounds like you are talking about someone in particular," the priest said, a slight touch of amusement entering his voice at the rancor in her tone.

Flushing slightly at her slipup, Brielle nervously smoothed a hand down her skirts. "Oh, well, yes, I suppose."

"Now why does this particular person make you lose your temper?"

_Great job Brielle…_ "Um…well, it is a long story, Father. Not something I would think that you would like to…"

"I have all day, child. If you wish to be absolved for your sins you must confess the reasons behind them."

A moment of silence followed this as Brielle clenched her fists at her sides. _Damn, damn, damn! I wanted to get that man out of my thoughts and first chance I get I start blabbing about him. Though I did want to come in here…maybe avoiding talking about it isn't the right path. _Sighing in defeat, she leaned back and launched into the long, dramatic story of the last year. Purposely she left out key details like names and the fact that she had recently found out that the man she had saved from the cellars was the Phantom of the Opera and that he was still living somewhere within the building.

Father Thomas cleared his throat after Brielle drew her story to an end. "And so now you have to face the same man who left you and your family? I can understand your anger now, Madame Donner. It is not a stretch of the mind to comprehend why you would hate him."

Stiffening Brielle frowned. "I don't hate him," she blurted, bristling slightly at the disapproving note in the priest's tone when he spoke of Erik. "Actually the main problem is that I love him…" Aghast that she had broken her own rule and mentioned her feelings out loud Brielle clapped a hand over her mouth. _Stupid, stupid!_

"Ah, I see. That would be a problem…but love is not a sin. Surely you don't think you have done any wrong by just loving this man. Even if he has made some mistakes."

Sitting forward again, Brielle shook her head. "No…it isn't the fact that I care for this man which worries me so, it is who he is which plagues me. He is entirely unsuitable…"

"Unsuitable how? Did he mistreat you? Physically hurt you?"

"No…he is always so careful around me. Except for under the greatest of stresses he has always treated me as if I were made of glass. And even when I do push him too far he hasn't hit me." As she answered her mind turned toward Andrew; remembering the cool, collected expression on his face when he had brought his hand across her cheek.

"Does he drink too much, then?" Father Thomas asked, sounding a little more confused.

"No, I don't think I have ever seen him even have a drink."

"Then what is so unsuitable, child? Compared to the man you agreed to marry…this man seems rather tame, especially since he seems to be sorry for leaving without notification."

"He is unsuitable because I am half way sure that he is still cares for his first love! He never says anything about her…but surely one doesn't forget something like that," she blurted, saying out loud one of her greatest fears. _Why am I babbling on like this? I shouldn't be saying these things? Erik hasn't ever said that he still loves Christine…why am I talking about this? Why am I feeling more and more jealous of a girl I haven't ever really met?_

"Have you asked him about this?"

Horrified at the thought Brielle began to feel ill. "No, I couldn't ask him that!"

"Then you will never really know the truth, now will you?" Father Thomas chided lightly. "Perhaps you are simply mistaken…"

Spurned on by the priest's dismissal of her concerns Brielle sat forward, desperate to substantiate her misgivings, desperate to keep the anger close. "He has killed people, Father!" she burst out before thinking better of it. "Though he said each time was in self defense…Certainly you can understand my hesitation in allowing myself to feel anything for him."

"And do you believe that it was in self defense?"

Brielle opened her mouth to respond but quickly shut it again. She suddenly realized that her first instinct was to reply with a yes. _Is that right? Do I believe what he said? _Trying again, the Irishwoman raised a hand to press against her temple. "No…I shouldn't believe him but I suppose I am coming to trust his word. At first I didn't because I was so angry with him; but he has been acting so strangely…so not himself that I cannot honestly say that I do not believe him. Usually he has a certain confidence in his actions…like he doesn't care what anyone thinks…but I haven't seen that lately. Lately, actually, he has been so uncertain around me that I hardly know what to do…it is endearing…and I hate that."

Dropping her hand to her side she continued. "But that still doesn't change the reality of what he has done. Since I was very small I was taught to honor the lives of others and I know that for him to be able to take a life that somewhere he must lack that. How do I resign myself to that?"

The priest made a soft disapproving sound as he shifted behind the barrier. "Then that is your true problem. You have taken upon yourself the duties of God himself. It is not your place to judge another person for past sins that did not involve you. Only God can see into a person's soul and know their heart. Those crimes were not against you and therefore it is not up to you to forgive him or judge him for what he has done," Father Thomas replied.

"That is ridiculous!" Brielle sputtered, outraged at the very thought. "I do not judge him…The reality of the situation is that…." Coming to a slow stop the initial burst of anger faded as the full extent of his words sank in. Raising a hand to cover her mouth in shock, she slumped down in her seat. "Is that what I am doing?"

"Yes…" Father Thomas responded gently. "It is not for you to worry about his past. Redemption can be had even by those who have taken another life. However, that said…it will be up to him to repent for his sins…if you suspect that he is continuing along his old path you will have to find the strength to separate yourself from him. Darkness often seeks out the light…do not fall into shadow."

Brielle remained quiet for several minutes after the priest finished, mulling over his words. _Redemption can be had by anyone…but only God can see into the souls of man. And yet, I have been judging Erik. It will probably take all that I have to stop…to find the strength to forgive him. _Sighing, she felt the anxiety begin to slip away, a strange, unexpected feeling of peace replacing the sickening panic. Something within her clicked into place, partially filling the gaping hole within her heart. Raising a hand to press against her chest, Brielle sucked in a shaky breath. She had forgotten what it felt like to feel whole.

"Thank you, Father," she murmured vaguely, hardly even paying attention as the priest went on with the confession, absolving her of her sins.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Moving quietly down a dimly lit corridor, Erik reached up and swiped at a low hanging cobweb in irritation. The last several days he had holed himself up in his underground home, reading feverishly anything he could get his hands on. At first he had only intended to keep himself as busy as possible in order to distract from the single most important thing on his mind, Brielle, but slowly he found himself selecting books that wouldn't have normally caught his interest. Medical textbooks and Irish historical accounts were suddenly of great fascination and Erik knew exactly why that was. His attempt to not obsess over a certain Irishwoman had failed, and so, always one to never admit defeat, he turned this irritating realization into something useful, gathering subjects and stories which he deemed 'safe' to strike up a conversation with Brielle.

_Not like I got to use any of what I read about. Damned woman startled me when she showed up in the library. And as usual I said something stupid and she made a polite and hasty retreat. _His brows drawing down into a dark, brooding frown, Erik paused in the passageway. _Serves me right though…you would think that after everything that has happened that I would have learned a little respect. Right before she left I was actually on the verge of grabbing hold of her and…_

Embarrassed with his own thoughts, Erik cursed and began to stalk back down the corridor with no particular destination in mind. _I really am a fool. Kissing her would have ruined everything. I am certain she forgave me for the first time…but doing it again would certainly be unforgivable. God I really am a beast sometimes…I tell her to trust my sincerity and not even a week later I actually consider breaking that tenuous friendship in a moment of weakness. Where has my discipline gone? _Passing a familiar intersection with that on his mind, he stopped and gazed off to the left. After a moment of hesitation, he then made a hasty turn down that side hall. Slowing his pace and quieting his step, he approached a large gray rectangle suspended in the darkness ahead.

Hearing several voices behind the mirror before him, Erik eased up to the sheet of glass, a fierce glare glittering in his eyes. _Who the hell is in Christine's old room? _Startled, he watched as two young boys picked up the music box he had given Aria on Christmas. _What the hell?_ Flicking his gaze about the room in front of him, he suddenly realized that it was now occupied, and stranger still that he recognized the few possessions that dotted the small space. Feeling like he had been bashed over the head with a shovel, Erik suddenly realized who had moved into the haunted dressing room. _She said that she had moved…she never said where._

A feverish, scattered emotion washed over him, seizing control of all thoughts as he continued to watch the two boys examine the music box. _Brielle is going to be living in Christine's room. Looking in this mirror just as she did…Walking the floors…dressing and sleeping here with her hair down about her shoulders. No…this can't be right. _ He raised a hand to shakily scrub across the left side of his face as he fought to control the baser thoughts threatening to overtake his mind. _Lord…don't think about such things. You are only setting yourself up for disappointment!_

The door to the room opened with a protesting squeak just then, causing both boys to jump and turn their attention to the little girl now entering the room. Erik watched Aria pull up short at the sight of the other children, her gray eyes instantly going wide and wary, just like her mother's often did. "W-What are you t-two doing h-here?" Aria asked slowly, making an obvious effort to make her words clear.

The taller of the two boys, the one still holding the music box, stepped forward insolently. "W-What are y-you going to d-do about it?" he asked, using an over-exaggerated stutter.

Coloring at the insulting tone in the boy's voice, Aria turned her gaze to the floor. Behind the mirror Erik ached inside, knowing exactly what the white hot burn of humiliation felt like. Blinking rapidly, Erik struggled to throw off the disorienting feeling that instead of watching Aria he was somehow seeing himself at a young age. _I forgot how much alike we were…god, how could I have left her without a word? _Slowly a new and terrible realization dawned over the dark guilt within his mind. _I did the same thing as my mother…I abandoned Aria even though I said I would stay…even though I knew how much it meant for me to stay…I am just like all the people in my life who turned away…I caught their cruelty. _But before Erik could work himself into a black and blinding rage over his own boorishness, something unexpected happened. Aria raised her head slowly, her cheeks still burning pink in embarrassment, and she narrowed her eyes into an icy glare, her mother's temper flickering to life behind her steady stare.

Turning, she set the small textbook she was carrying on a side table before fisting her tiny hands upon her hips in a characteristic Donovan woman battle stance. "G-Get out, b-both of you!"

"Or you will do what?" the taller boy asked snottily.

"Yeah what?" the smaller one chipped in.

Puffing up her cheeks in indignation, Aria stomped her foot. "T-This is our r-room now. You aren't allowed t-to play in h-here anymore."

"Oh?" The older boy asked as he tossed the music box in the air slightly. "Well, I don't think you will be staying long. This room is haunted by a ghost. He comes out at night and burns people with his eyeballs!"

To her credit Aria merely scoffed at this. "T-That is stupid. N-Now give m-me my music box b-back!"

Disappointed his story hadn't scared her, the older boy screwed up his face into a sour expression and dropped the music box onto the floor. "Fine have it back. I don't…"

In a flash, the exact moment that the music box hit the floor with a metallic crash, Erik finally lost his temper, redirecting his fury at himself toward the two interlopers. Opening his mouth he let out a low, ghostly-sounding howl, throwing his voice so that it sounded as if it were coming from a spot right behind the taller boy. Narrowing his eyes he watched with a small amount of satisfaction as both boys whirled about, their faces going white as they searched the room for the source of the sound. Seeing nothing to explain the noise, they both ran out of the room without another word.

As soon as the boys left Aria walked over to where her music box lay smashed upon the floor, picking up the body of the monkey from where it sat a foot away. Her bottom lip trembling slightly, she looked up at the mirror, her large gray eyes passing over where Erik stood. Stepping back slightly, the masked man shifted uncomfortably, feeling almost as if she could see right through the glass. _I don't think I am brave enough to face her yet. She was the first…the one who made me feel as if I could live again. And I didn't even think of her the day I left. I forgot her…_

"Are y-you there?" Aria asked quietly, as she looked back down at the broken toy in her hands.

Thunderstruck, Erik momentarily panicked, falling back several more feet. _Damn it! I keep forgetting how careful I have to be around these women…can't lie to them and you can't hide. _Sighing, he determinedly tamped down the rolling waves of apprehension sloshing about within his stomach. Moving forward, he pressed the secret button on the right side of the mirror and slid the panel open slowly. Sheepishly he moved out of hiding, feeling very uncomfortable under the little girl's intent gaze.

Aria watched his approach with a guarded expression before turning her attention back to the broken toy in her hands. "I knew y-you were there."

Clearing his throat, Erik came to stand near to where the little girl still crouched over the music box, gathering its pieces in her little hands. "And how was that?" he asked stupidly, when all he wanted to do was to beg the forgiveness of this five-year-old girl.

Looking up as if startled, Aria's hands stilled. "That is t-the voice y-you used f-for the bad guys w-when you used to r-read me stories," she said simply.

The room fell into silence then as both Aria and Erik stared at one another. Finally looking away, Erik moved to go and sit upon the edge of the bed. _Brielle must have slept here last night…_he thought absently before the danger of where his thoughts were leading suddenly occurred to him. Having barely settled his weight upon the mattress, the masked man jumped up again with a jerk. _Don't think about it, for God's sake. She is a dear friend...not so much has changed…she is a friend…_

Watching his strange behavior in silence, Aria's dark eyebrows drew down into a frown. "W-Why did you c-chase them away?" she asked suddenly.

Blinking stupidly for a moment, he struggled to reroute his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. "I didn't like the way they were treating you," he replied honestly.

Aria merely pinched her lips together into a thin line to keep them from trembling as she turned her eyes once again to the small monkey in her hands. "T-They broke m-my Christmas p-present," she said on a sigh. "It w-was the only t-toy I had."

Forgetting for a moment to be careful of what he did, Erik stepped forward and knelt at the child's side, helping her gather the broken bits into a small pile. "Don't worry. I can fix this. It will be even better than before," he said quickly, hoping to stay the growing threat of tears he saw gathering in Aria's eyes. "Whatever happened to that doll your mother gave you last year? Don't you still have her to play with?"

Aria gave a little hiccup and raised a fist to rub at her eyes, wiping away the tears as they spilled down her cheeks. "I d-don't play with Erik a-anymore," she whispered, lowering her hands to look raggedly up into Erik's face.

Struck dumb by the anguish he saw in her wet childish face, Erik leaned forward as if to wipe the tears from her cheeks, his gloved fingers hovering a breath away from her skin, before pulling back once again. It felt wrong to make any sort of contact, like he would somehow contaminate the child just by touching her. "I don't know what to say to make up for what I have done. I am so sorry…"

"W-Were you m-mad at me back then? W-was I so b-bad that you w-wanted to leave?"

Shocked that she thought such a thing, Erik quickly shook his head, desperate to correct her misunderstanding. "No! That isn't it at all. You were a light in my life. You could never have done anything to make me want to leave. I left because I was stupid…and I made a mistake. Have you ever made a mistake that you wished with all your soul to be able to undo?"

"Y-Yes…I t-told M-Momma that I h-hate you. I s-shouldn't have d-done that b-because it w-wasn't true."

Not entirely believing what he heard, Erik tilted his head to the side. "You don't?"

"N-No I w-was just m-mad and s-sad, and I k-know you are sorry. Momma s-says we should forgive p-people who are mean to us. It just t-took me a while."

Unable to respond over the lump gathering in his throat, Erik looked away, his one visible eyebrow drawing down, he fought against the nearly overpowering urge to allow the tears gathering in his eyes to fall. "Out of the mouths of babes," he murmured halfway to himself. "Then you forgive me for leaving. Do you think that is wise?"

Standing, Aria pattered around the small pile of broken music box bits to stand near Erik's side. Sticking her thumb in her mouth, she shifted from foot to foot until Erik reached up and after a moment of hesitation he gently pulled her digit from her lips. "It d-doesn't matter. B-Besides I missed y-you m-more than I w-was mad," she finally said as she latched one hand onto his sleeve.

Staring open mouthed at Aria, Erik couldn't comprehend the maturity and poise with which a mere child had handled a horrific situation. _Maybe we are not as alike as I thought…at her age I never would have acted as she has. I would have courted anger and revenge. How is it she came by such wisdom…I don't deserve such consideration…from either of them. _"Why did I ever leave such a wonderful little girl?" he murmured half to himself.

"I heard M-Momma s-say it w-was in a m-moment of insanity," Aria quipped with a slight smile lightening her sober gaze.

Unable to hold the laugh back, Erik let out a half choked chuckle. "Did she now? Well your mother is a smart lady."

Twisting her midsection back and forth, Aria watched her skirts swing about her knees for a moment. "You aren't g-going to leave a-again are you?" she asked hesitantly.

"No…never again," he replied, the conviction in his voice surprising him. "Never again."

The smile grew upon Aria's face until the grin stretched from ear to ear, her dimples flashing gaily in both cheeks. "T-Then I am h-happy you are b-back," she sighed contentedly as she leapt forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her former teacher's neck.

Freezing instinctively at the unexpected contact, Erik stiffened against the blatant sign of affection. Letting out a pent-up breath, he allowed himself to relax into the embrace, silently marveling at the bliss such a simple gesture afforded. _I would never have thought a year ago that such a thing as being hugged by a child could have been possible. In my whole life no one had ever willingly touched me for any reason…except for in anger…and now…now things are just so different. How could I have been so stupid as to leave this behind…to leave the only people who have ever showed me the true meaning of family? _

Pulled from his musings when Aria squirmed out of his arms, Erik smiled stupidly at nothing in particular, a cool shower of contented serenity raining down over all his senses. Aria walked curiously toward the still-open mirror panel behind them. "T-That is r-really n-neat," she said enthusiastically, having already moved beyond the serious subject of her forgiveness to other, more interesting, things.

Taking a moment longer to gather his thoughts, Erik stood slowly and walked over to the mirror. Opening the panel further, he chuckled at the astonished expression on Aria's face as she peered off into the dim corridor beyond. "Yes, and it even as a secret tunnel behind it. No one else in this entire theater knows about it besides me…and now you," he said, pitching his voice down dramatically as he used to do while reading her a story.

Clapping her hands excitedly, Aria hopped up and down. "W-Where d-does it go!"

Holding out a hand for her to take, Erik leaned down conspiratorially. "How about I show you?" he asked as Aria reached up and took his waiting hand. Nodding vigorously, the child jumped over the threshold without a second's hesitation, waiting only for Erik to close the mirror panel behind them before ploughing ahead into the darkness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Conner waited impatiently outside the chapel doors, his fairy green eyes watching for the familiar figure of his sister to appear. Glancing momentarily at his pocket watch, he tore his gaze from the closed doors to curse silently at the time. _Lord a' mighty, what in the world could she be confessing in there? It isn't like she ever does anything wrong._ Tapping a finger against the cool metallic surface of his watch, he snapped the gold lid shut with a click. Sighing heavily, he crossed his arms and forced himself to be patient. _It isn't like I have anything particular to be doing…all practice is on hold until the new tenor arrives…and I guess that is the problem…I don't have anything to do besides haunt the ballet practice rooms. And just when I need a little distraction Brielle decides to come clean to the priest and is taking forever in doing it!_

He was staring so intently at the chapel doors that he hardly even registered the group of ballerinas that walked by. With a quick distracted glance he noted that the giggling girls were all brunettes, and looking quickly away he mentally dismissed the passing women and went back to glaring at the closed doors in front of him. But his fleeting gaze apparently emboldened several of the girls to coyly flutter their eyelashes in his direction. Starting when one of the girls laid a hand upon his sleeve, he blinked blankly down at the upturned face of the pretty blue-eyed girl staring up at him.

Overcoming the initial wave of irritation which flashed through him, Conner plastered a reluctant smile upon his face. _Don't be surly…It isn't their fault you are turning into a grouchy old man._ "Not now girls," he said lightly, shrugging out from under the girl's grip. "As you can see, I am waiting to confess…I have a lot to think about…as you can imagine."

Pouting slightly, the girls withdrew, but not before one turned and called out "You know, you aren't any fun anymore, Conner. If you have a sweetheart just tell us other girls so we aren't wasting our time!"

Waving absently, his mind already wandering, Conner merely smiled and turned his eyes back to the chapel door. _Yeah right…me having a sweetheart…that is a laugh. Where the hell is Bri? _ Checking his watch again, the redhead leaned his head back against the cool stone wall behind him and closed his eyes. Several moments passed as he listened for the sound of the opening doors to reach his ears.

Out of nowhere a childish voice screeched unexpectedly in his ear. "BOOO!"

Springing away from the wall, Conner whirled upon the sound, his heart racing madly within his chest. He lowered his balled fists when the source of the howl laughed, delighted by his reaction. "Uncle C-Conner you were s-scared!"

"Sweet Mary, Aria, you nearly made my heart jump clear of my chest!" he admonished a little breathlessly as he pressed a hand against his chest, trying to catch his breath. "What the hel…er…why are you out wandering around by yourself? You could get lost, you know," he stated darkly as he wagged a finger in the child's direction.

"I highly doubt she would get lost, Conner, considering Aria was in my company," a smooth masculine voice stated matter-of-factly from behind the redhead.

Without even having to turn his head, Conner knew exactly who was standing behind him. A spark of relieved glee burst to life within him, there was no other person in all the theater whom Conner would rather have seen. There was no one else who was more fun to tease. _Finally, someone to talk to. Thank the Lord! _"Well then blast you, Erik! Letting her sneak up on me like that. I could have died!" Conner said dramatically, a grin lighting his face and taking away from the seriousness of his words. Turning then, he slapped the slightly taller cloaked figure on the shoulder, eyeing the wide-brimmed felt hat the man was wearing. "I should knock your teeth out!"

A smug smirk tilted the masked man's mouth up at one corner from under the brim of his hat. "You are welcome to try," Erik said serenely, the soft tone of his voice disrupted by the teasing glitter within his blue eyes.

Tilting his head to the side, Conner wondered momentarily at the uncharacteristic playfulness he saw in the masked man's face. _Maybe he and Bri have finally made up. They have been driving me crazy lately…Bri has been moping something fierce these last few days…no doubt because Erik was being stupid. _"My, what a good mood you are in today. What in the world could have caused such a dramatic change? Have you and my sister stopped dancing around each other?" Conner asked with a slow smile.

The smirk falling from his face, Erik glared daggers in the redhead's direction. But before he could say anything, Aria jumped forward and tugged insistently upon her uncle's pant leg. "No, I s-said I w-wasn't mad anymore…so n-now he is happy! And he s-said he would f-fix my music box b-because it was s-smashed," Aria said overly loudly in the deserted hall.

Placing a hand on Aria's dark head, Conner winked down at her. "Ah, well, that is nice. You are far more advanced than your mother. From now on you will have to try and get her to be nicer to poor Erik."

"Don't tell the child that!" Erik exclaimed with irritation.

"Why? Are you afraid a five-year-old could fix your problems faster than you could?" Conner asked innocently as his raised one ginger-colored eyebrow up in question. Erik sputtered in outrage in response to that, but Conner turned back to Aria and lifted her up onto his hip with a flourish. "Isn't that right, Aria? Couldn't you fix Momma's and Erik's problems?"

Raising her hands to cover the giggle bursting out of her mouth, Aria momentarily cast a glance in Erik's direction before joining the fun. "I c-could! I c-could fix everything b-because I am a genius!" she squealed happily, delighted by how flustered Erik was becoming.

Shaking his head, Erik closed his eyes with a sigh. "Damn…I am terribly out of practice to stand up to your special sort of irritation, Conner. I am constantly forgetting how incorrigible you are."

"Why thank you," Conner replied sweetly as he shifted Aria's weight in his arms in order to be able to cover both her ears. "By the way…Brielle is in confession now if you would like to wait for her to come out. Though she has been in there for an awfully long time…is there something particular she may be confessing, sir?" he asked with a wink, deliriously happy to be fighting with Erik rather than thinking about a certain blond ballerina.

Erik's mouth dropped open in shock over Conner's suggestive question. Gaping at the redhead, a slow blush worked its way up to the masked man's face. Closing his mouth with a snap, Erik straightened regally, drawing himself up to his full height in order to distract from the embarrassment staining his cheeks. "Unfortunately I have other business to attend to. Give your sister my best wishes," he said stiffly as he sketched a hurried bow and turned to make a hasty retreat.

Laughing and removing his hands from Aria's head, Conner watched the masked man go until his cloaked figure disappeared through what had appeared to be a solid wall. "Well that was fun," he said with a fair amount of satisfaction just as the chapel doors opened with a creak.

Brielle stepped out from the room slowly, her eyes downcast in deep thought. Stepping forward quickly, Conner opened his mouth to greet her, but hesitated at the sober, slightly dazed expression on her face. _Poor girl…this whole Erik thing is really eating her up inside. Though she does seem a little better…not so sad. But no doubt a simple confession won't have fixed everything. She needs to get her mind off serious things for a while…have a little fun. Actually, I could use a little fun as well…_Frowning at the thought, Conner pursed his lips in consideration. _Yeah…we all could use a little entertainment…_A slow smile spread across his face as a brilliant idea crossed his mind.

"There you are Bri," he finally said. "I have been waiting out here for you for ages."

Not missing a beat, Brielle glanced up at her brother and rolled her eyes, momentarily snapping out of her thoughtful mood. "I highly doubt that," she replied as she stepped forward to transfer Aria from Conner's hip to her own. Kissing the child on the cheek, she smiled a slightly. "What sort of trouble have the two of you been getting into?"

"None so far," Conner said on a dramatic sigh as he came up beside his sister to drape an arm about her shoulders. "And I think that is the problem…you see, I have far too much time on my hands and nothing to do with it."

"Aww, poor you!"

"No, really, Bri, everyone around here is so boring lately! Especially you! But I have the perfect idea on how to fix that!"

"Oh, and how is that?" she asked without much enthusiasm.

"I have decided to throw a welcoming party for the new tenor. Picture this," he began spreading his hand out before them in a dramatic sweeping motion, "music, dancing, good food and endless bottles of wine! What do you think about that? Doesn't it sound great? It will get all of our minds of the things that are troubling us."

Scoffing lightly at his excitement, Brielle shook her head. "There is a fatal problem with that idea, Conner. The lead tenor isn't even here yet. I don't even know if Andre and Firmin have decided who they want to fill the spot. You can't throw a welcoming party for someone that isn't even here!"

Straightening slightly, Conner stepped away from her for a moment, trying to look as offended as possible. "I am not stupid, Brielle, I know the man isn't here yet…but can I help it that he is a rude sort of fellow and is missing his own party?"

"How would he even know about it in the first place!"

Wagging a finger in his sister's face, Conner merely shrugged. "That isn't my problem."

Flabbergasted by his total abandonment of logic, Brielle raised a hand to her temple. "There is another problem, Conner. You can't afford to throw the entire theater a party. Even you don't make that amount of money."

With a grin splitting his face, Conner reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a money clip full of folded paper money. Shocked, Brielle reached out and snatched the wad of money from her brother's grip. "Where in the world did you get this!" she nearly shouted, her gray eyes almost bugging out of her face in astonishment.

Snatching the wad of money back from her, Conner let out a laugh over his sister's expression. "Actually, it is a funny story. Remember the day Andrew showed up to sign on to be a patron? Well unfortunately I almost got into a tussle with the man. I grabbed a'hold of his jacket but didn't have time to hit him before Firmin held me back."

"What does that have to do with the money?"

"I didn't have time to hit Andrew…but I did have time to lift his money clip," Conner finished. "I have been debating what to do with it ever since. I knew he was leaving that day for London so I just kept it."

Staring at her brother as if he had lost his mind, Brielle could only shake her head. "You are absolutely mad!"

"Thank you," he replied, tucking the bills back into his pocket.

"Conner, you can't use that to throw a party. Sweet Mary, what if Andrew comes back looking for that?"

"He won't…a man like him won't miss a couple hundred pounds. He practically owns half of Britain…so his loss is my gain…and yours too! But there is so much I have to get done between now and tonight! I shouldn't be standing about blabbing to you!" he said as he turned to stride off down the hall. "But before I go, tell me you will come. You have to, it won't be any fun without you!" he called over his shoulder.

"Conner, I will absolutely not participate in…" Brielle started, completely scandalized by the whole situation.

Cutting her off, Conner waved back to her over his head. "Great, I will see you there then!"

"No, Conner I won't…"

"Bye, Bri! I will talk to you later," he shouted as he rounded a corner. Slowly allowing the smile to fade from his face, now that he was alone, he let out a deep sigh. _Good maybe a good bout of drunkenness will help me forget that blasted dancer… _


	50. Party Time

**Hey everyone! Got back down to my normal time. Hurray! Loved all the great reviews you guys sent my way, so thanks! And for those of you who were missing Brielle and Erik interaction in the last chapter…I am pretty sure you won't be disappointed with this one! **

**Thanks to Terpsichore314 for her wonderful editing! She wizzed through this chapter like a pro! (and it is pretty long!) So three cheers for her! Hurray! But anyway besides that I hope you all enjoy the chapter! **

Chapter 50: Party Time

Brielle tapped the well-used deck of Tarot cards against the simple three-legged table in her new bedroom, quietly contemplating all the things that had happened earlier that day. Father Thomas's words flickered back and forth within her head, like moths gathered about a single flame, both bringing her a sense of peaceful certainty as well as a feeling of dread. _If I forgive him for what he did to my family then there will be nothing left to protect my heart against him. How can I give up my anger up when I know that if I do I will get my heart broken? I know I love him…as surely as I know the sun will come up tomorrow but I cannot abide the thought of loving someone who does not care for me in the same way. Could I live with just a friendship? Could I handle being near him without loosing my mind? I will not make a fool of myself…_Going through the dramatic shuffling techniques Marie had taught her, she absently flipped a card out of the deck and onto the table. Her carefully darkened eyebrows drew down slowly as she frowned at the picture of an embracing man and woman upon the card's lacquered surface.

"The Lovers…great, just what I need right now," she sighed to herself as she snatched up the card and stuffed it randomly back into the deck.

Looking up then from the picture book she was reading, Aria tilted her head to the side in question. "M-Momma, what does l-lovers m-mean?" the child asked curiously.

Shaken out of her endlessly spiraling thoughts, Brielle set the deck of cards upon the table, turning to look over her shoulder at her daughter. "It is a word that means that two people love each other very much," she said carefully, not wanting to go into more detail than she needed to.

Nodding sagely, Aria turned her eyes back to the book in her hands without further comment, apparently satisfied with the explanation. Turning back to the small table, Brielle caught sight of her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall opposite her. Wrinkling her nose at herself she tucked a wayward strand of dark hair behind one ear.

"I think I am going to end up hating this mirror. I am already getting tired of looking at myself all the time."

Turning a page, Aria smiled secretly to herself. "I l-like it," she said simply. "It m-means we aren't a-always alone."

"What do you mean?" Brielle asked as she stood and walked across the room to flop down on the bed next to her daughter. Absently trailing her fingers over the child's dark hair she glanced momentarily at the book in Aria's hands. _The Frog Prince…that used to be her favorite story. Where in the world did she get a copy of it?_

Tilting her head into her mother's touch, Aria's smile widened into a grin, revealing the unsteady wiggling of her loose front tooth. "I c-can't telllllll yooooooooou," she giggled in a sing-song voice.

Glad to see a hint of mischievousness gleaming in the child's gray eyes, Brielle arched an eyebrow, trying hard not to laugh with Aria. "Oh really? You can't tell me, can you?"

"N-Noo!" Aria squealed as Brielle leaned forward and mercilessly began tickling her daughter about the waist. Letting out a sound halfway between a laugh and a scream Aria squirmed about on the bed, her little legs kicking wildly over the side of the mattress.

Laughing now, Brielle stopped for a moment, giving Aria a moment's breath. "Will you reveal your secrets now or must the torture continue?" she asked between chuckles, raising her hands claw-like into the air and making a menacing tickling motion.

Sliding quickly off the bed, Aria raced to stand on the other side of the table, her dimples flashing wildly as she watched to see if Brielle would give chase. "I w-will n-never tell!" she finally shouted as her mother climbed to her feet.

Fisting her hands upon her hips, Brielle struck a dramatic pose before leaping forward to chase after Aria around the table. "No use in running!" she huffed happily as she dodged to the side, making an attempt at catching the dark-haired girl. "I will get…"

Brielle was cut off short when the door to her room was unceremoniously thrown open to bang against the wall. Letting out a startled gasp, the Irishwoman spun to face the intruder, wrapping one arm around Aria's shoulders when the child raced to hide behind her skirts. Carlotta stood in the now open doorway, her chest rising and falling a little too fast as she scanned the room with darting, wide eyes.

"I a'heard de screams. What are you doing in 'ere? It sounded like someone was-a being killed in 'ere!" she snapped as she straightened her velveteen jacket prissily, the wariness in her gaze fading behind the goliath fortifications of her ego.

Relaxing her hold on her daughter, Brielle felt the smile slip from her face at the sight of her new employer. Likewise straightening in an attempt to meet the taller woman on a more even playing field, the Irishwoman fought the urge to ask the singer why her parents had never taught her to knock. _Stop it…she was concerned by all the noise…be nice._ "Sorry, I didn't know that we were being so loud. We were just playing a game."

Sniffing at that, Carlotta swept further into the room to sneer over the few worldly possessions dotting the dresser and table tops. "Well it waz damned annoying," she snapped as she raised a hand dramatically to her forehead. "I-a 'ope you are 'appy now because I 'ave a headache! And everyone 'as better tings to do den to take care of me in my time ov need!" Sitting down in a huff, Carlotta made herself comfortable at the small table in the middle of the room, looking strangely content with the arrangement despite her complaining.

Sucking in a breath to keep the venomous retorts from spewing out of her mouth, Brielle slowly ushered Aria back to the bed before coming to stand near Carlotta's side. Glaring daggers at the older woman's darkly beautiful face, Brielle pinched her mouth shut, determined not to be riled by the singer's childish and mean words. _Well, fine if she isn't going to be civil, then I just won't say a word. Employer or not…she is treading on my last nerve. _After several moments of silence ticked by Carlotta turned to look directly up at Brielle's mutinous expression, a hint of an unexpected emotion rising up behind her dark eyes. _If I didn't know better…I would say she almost looks lonely. No…she wouldn't have come in here to bitch about everything if that is so…that would be stupid._

"Well what are you just standing around for?" Carlotta snipped moodily as she crossed her arms across her chest.

Her temper retreating now, Brielle carefully watched the singer's every expression, stupefied when she caught sight of another weak flickering of sadness in the older woman's gaze. _How didn't I notice that before? The sorrow hiding behind the tantrums…_Clearing her throat, the Irishwoman relaxed her stance, feeling slightly guilty for all of the terrible thoughts which had run through her head moments ago. "Um…If your head is hurting perhaps I could fetch you some medication?" Brielle began slowly between gritted teeth, trying her hardest to sound friendly.

Waving an irritated hand in the air, Carlotta made a series of deep clucking sounds in her throat. "Ah, ah…forget about my pain. What does it matter to anyone? No one cares!"

Rolling her eyes, Brielle shrugged and came around the table to sit opposite the grumping singer. Watching this whole exchange with a great deal of interest, Aria raised both her hands to muffle the giggle bursting out of her mouth. Hearing the stifled sound Carlotta turned her head with a snap, and sitting up straighter she pointed a finger in the child's direction. "What is she snickering at, eh? I see noting funny."

"She isn't snickering…she is just smiling because she doesn't often get to see such richly dressed ladies. I was just a cleaning lady until you hired me after all," Brielle said convincingly, almost believing the lie herself.

Turning to shoot Brielle a sharp, suspicious glance, Carlotta tapped a ringed finger against the chair back in irritation. Seeing nothing out of place in Brielle's impassive expression, the Italian woman relaxed once again, a smug smile blooming across her face. "Of course, I forgot dat for a moment. No wonder she is staring, yes?" she said with a laugh. "I am-a telling everyone dat you are my new assistant by de way. Dis is so I don't have to share. And I-a see dat de dresses I sent fit. Dat is good because you looked terrible and I can't 'ave ugly people around me, especially a new assistant."

The arrogance with which Carlotta said that last sentence made Brielle burst out laughing. Catching the fierce glare the singer sent her way, Brielle quickly settled down, clearing her throat a little self-consciously. "Yes, the clothes were greatly appreciated. It has been a long time since I have had anything new."

Raising her hand then as if she were in a classroom, Aria bounced happily upon the bed. "C-Can I have n-new clothes too!" she demanded, bringing both Brielle and Carlotta's attention back to her.

Looking slightly shocked that the child was actually addressing her, Carlotta stared blankly over at Aria. Without answering she turned back to Brielle. "Is she always so…eh…how you say…blunt?"

"Yes, I am afraid she gets it from me," Brielle replied, motioning for Aria to sit still. "Shh, love, don't bother the…eh…nice lady."

Slowly an amused smile pulled at the corners of Carlotta's mouth as she raised a hand to pat at her elaborate hairdo. "You 'ave a funny daughter. She isn't afraid ov me like all de other brats in dis place. She is very brave, yes? Like I was at dat age." Looking over her shoulder the singer addressed Aria. "I suppose I could-a get you some clothes too since you-a make me smile, yes?"

"H-Hurray!" Aria screeched.

"Oh no…you can't…" Brielle began uncomfortably, feeling the gesture was something akin to charity. "With my new salary I can certainly afford to buy her things myself. You need not offer to do so."

Waving a dismissive hand in Brielle's direction, Carlotta ignored her arguments. "Ah, no! I will do what I want! If I want to buy tings den I will," the singer stated definitively. Spotting the pack of cards upon the table then Carlotta leaned forward and peered at the deck curiously. "Did you know-a I was coming today?" she finally asked after picking up one card to study it closer.

Having hoped that this odd meeting would have passed without mention of her new job, Brielle internally grimaced. "No…I mean I didn't know that…" Stopping there the Irishwoman practically heard Marie's voice in her head saying over and over again the main theme behind all her lessons. _Always be mysterious. It is the mystery over all other things that makes a fortuneteller successful._

Letting out a sigh, Brielle plastered her best mysterious expression onto her face. "Oh, I mean yes. Yes, I knew."

Clapping a hand onto the tabletop, Carlotta gave a satisfied grunt. "I knew it! You will read my fortune now, yes?" she asked in such a way as to make it clear that there would be no saying no.

Smiling through her panic, Brielle slowly slid the cards towards herself across the table. "Yes, of course. If that is what you would like," she said hesitantly as she began to shuffle the deck, mentally going over all the meanings of the cards. _Ok, so The Hermit means that there is a need for prudence. Justice means that there will be a positive resolution of conflicts and the Hanged Man means…damnit what does it mean? _

Taking a breath, Brielle stopped shuffling the deck and set it on the table. "What would you like to know? Something from the past, present or future?" she asked, trying to sound certain of what she was doing.

"Future," Carlotta said quickly, a hint of nervousness sharpening her features as she glanced momentarily at the mirror over Brielle's shoulder.

Nodding, Brielle closed her eyes, feeling slightly foolish for the dramatic show she was attempting to do. "All right…the future…" she said, waving a hand over the cards before picking one off the top and laying it down on the table. When Carlotta gasped aloud Brielle opened her eyes and glanced down at the picture of Death's grinning skull on the card she had turned over. Wincing at the ill luck of the draw, Brielle looked up to see all the color draining out of Carlotta's face. _Shit, Brielle…this was supposed to make her feel better! Even if she is a royal bitch half the time, the poor woman still thinks she is the target of the blasted Phantom of the Opera._

Desperate to save the situation, and Carlotta from fainting dead away at her feet, Brielle pasted an over bright smile on her face. "Ah, this is a good sign."

"What?" the singer asked shakily, tearing her dark eyes away from ominous image on the table.

Tapping the card with a conviction she didn't feel Brielle nodded. "Yes."

"But…but…it is Death!" Carlotta gasped, raising both hands up to cover her mouth in horror.

"No, no…you misunderstand. That is the name of the card it doesn't mean that anyone is going to die. You see the position of the card is important. When it is upright like this it is a good sign. It means that there is a new beginning coming into your life."

"Really?" came the uncertain reply.

"Yes, perhaps it is referring to the reopening of the Opera House. I have heard that you have a great deal of fans whom have been waiting to hear you sing again. They said how wonderful your debut was when you first started your career in the Italian Opera," Brielle said truthfully, recounting the rumors she had heard from the other cleaning ladies, purposely leaving out the bit about how strained and overdone Carlotta's voice had become.

Leaning an elbow on the table to steady herself, Carlotta remained quiet for several moments as she caught her breath. "Yes, dat makes sense. I was afraid for a moment dat…" Falling silent, the singer glanced up at Brielle before quickly straightening. "I tink dat is all for today, yes?"

An unexpected surge of sympathy washed over Brielle as she watched the older woman collect her composure. "You know this means you have nothing to fear here, that you can start anew and slough off the past," she said before thinking better of offering kindness to such a mean-spirited woman. "I am sorry that this upset you. I should have been quicker to explain things." Pausing there, an idea popped unbidden into her head. "I know that Con…er…the lead violinist is throwing a party tonight. Perhaps you should go and have some fun…to get your mind off this upset."

Carlotta stared at Brielle for a split second, looking rather put back by the Irishwoman's suggestion. "You are a very strange woman," she said finally as she stood and stepped away from the table. "To invite _me_ to such a ting, imagine ha! But bye-bye now, I 'ave many tings to do today."

Likewise standing, Brielle followed the older woman to the door. "Good day to you, Signora."

Nodding absently, Carlotta swept out of the room, and pausing a few steps down the hallway the dark-haired woman turned and looked back at Brielle, a smile flickering across her face. "Yes…I tink it will be a good day."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later that evening, Brielle was distracted from the game she was playing with Aria by the loud, discordant sound of several musicians warming up drifting underneath her closed door. Sharing a curious glance with her daughter she quickly got to her feet, opening the door to peer out of her room. Several moments passed as she listened to the racket before it dawned on her what the noise must signify. "I suppose that signals that Conner is actually going to throw that fool party after all," she said, wrinkling her nose back at where Aria was sitting at the table.

Aria flashed a grin at that and jumped down from her chair. Coming to stand next to her mother, she wrapped both arms around Brielle's legs, a pleading expression pouting out her bottom lip. "C-Can I go with y-you to Uncle C-Conner's p-party, Momma? I n-never g-get to g-go to parties!"

Patting the eager child on the head, Brielle frowned. "Well I wasn't going to go either, love. There will just be a lot of old people there and it wouldn't be any fun for you at all."

Not dissuaded in the least by that statement, Aria stuck out her bottom lip more, widening her eyes till Brielle was sure they would pop out of the child's head. "P-Please Momma? J-Just for a l-little bit?"

Feeling her resolve waver in the face of such masterful begging, Brielle rolled her eyes heavenward before bending to take Aria by the hand. "All right, we will go for a little bit. But I won't have you staying up half the night so if you get too wild we will come straight back here."

Skipping about happily at her mother's side, Aria nodded enthusiastically. "I won't b-be wild!" she squealed as she continued to dance about excitedly.

Shaking her head over Aria's already frenzied behavior, Brielle led the way out of their room and down the hallway. From further down the hallway the sound of a lively Irish melody could be heard starting up. Swinging their clasped hands playfully at their side Brielle felt a little bit of her daughter's silliness leak into her own behavior. "Hopefully they haven't already broken into the liquor," she murmured to herself as she continued to smile down at Aria.

Nearing the backstage area, Brielle passed by several old curtains hanging slightly askew in front of one of the back walls. Just as she was passing the last in the row a gloved hand shot out from behind the fabric and latched onto her upper arm, dragging both her and Aria out of the hall and into the shadowy space between the curtains. Letting out a startled expletive before she could stop herself Brielle opened her mouth to scream.

"Please don't do that. I have been waiting hours to be able to talk to you alone. It would be terribly annoying to have a crowd come barreling in to your rescue before I even get to say anything," Erik's even baritone stated through the shadows as the hand upon her shoulder released her.

Peering across the short distance between them Brielle struggled to pick the annoying man out from the shadows; as usual he was dressed nearly head to toe in black, the glowing white of his mask the only part of him standing out in the dim light. "Do you enjoy scaring me like that?" Brielle hissed in irritation. _No…this can't be happening right now. I need more time to think things through…I need more time to make a plan. I can't see him yet. _She thought to herself, a hint of panic making her heart pick up its pace within her chest. "One of these days you are going to jump out and I am going to have a heart attack!"

Now that her eyes were adjusting to the dim light filtering in through the fabric Brielle could see the blasted man shrug off her statement. "If that should happen I know the perfect way to bring you back to life," he said with a fair amount of amusement lightening his tone.

"Ha, ha…" Brielle replied, feeling a little foolish that she couldn't think of a better retort than that.

Aria chose that moment to break away from her mother's grip and jump forward to tug upon the hem of Erik's dark cloak. "W-We are g-going to a party," she said happily, showing none of the reservation that saturated Brielle's every action. "D-Do you w-want to come?" she finished innocently.

Staring down at the bouncing form of her daughter in shock Brielle quickly glanced up to Erik's face. _What the hell? When did this sudden change come about? Blast that man…he has already turned Aria to his cause._ "Yes, Erik…" Brielle chimed in sarcastically. "Why don't you come along?"

Ignoring the snottiness in Brielle's tone, Erik bent slightly to gently brush a hand over Aria's head. "I am sorry. I can't go with you right now but I am sure you will have a great deal of fun."

Puffing up as the annoyance built within her, Brielle crossed her arms across her chest. "You said you had something to say…so say it."

Noticing the sharp hint of anger leaking into her tone, Erik looked up quickly. "Oh yes," he said as he straightened, the tenderness in his tone fading as he faced Brielle directly. "Why didn't you tell me you had moved into Chr…into the mirror room?" he demanded.

Out of all the things she was expecting him to say that wasn't it. "What?"

"Why didn't you tell me what room you were moving into?" he asked again a little louder, assuming that she just hadn't heard the question.

In the five seconds it took him to restate the question Brielle felt her initial irritation shoot past simple annoyance straight into jealous fury. "Ohhh…so you want to know why I didn't tell you that I am now living in Christine's old room?"

There was a short pause. "I didn't say that."

"No, you didn't have to. I am sorry I forgot to tell you…I suppose I didn't realize I was treading on sacred ground." When Erik made a frustrated gesture with his hands Brielle jumped in before he could respond to her attack. "Was there something else you had to say?"

Letting out an annoyed breath, Erik fisted his hands at his sides. "I have a great deal to say about your new employer," he stated coolly.

Her hackles rising in response to the protective, disapproving nature of that simple statement, Brielle pursed her lips into a thin line. "Oh?" she said slowly, that one word daring him to continue.

Not taking the hint to stop while he was ahead Erik took a step closer so that they practically stood nose to nose, only Aria's small body acting as a separation between them. "I don't like how she talks to you," he said darkly, the barely concealed danger in those words sending a strangely delighted shiver down Brielle's spine.

Finding herself automatically leaning towards the magnetic pull of his presence Brielle jerked back a step, horrified at her own actions. _Get a hold of yourself! I knew it was a bad idea to talk to him right now…damnit!_ "Yes, well I don't see how it is any of your business," Brielle snapped, the panic bubbling up in her blood making her voice harsher than she had intended.

"Of course it is my business!" Erik retorted quickly, Brielle's tone sparking the ember of his own temper. "As your friend it is definitely my business. She is a condescending witch and I have half a mind to…"

Stabbing a finger in his direction, Brielle pushed against the rock hard planes of his chest, trying to put some distance between them. "Now you listen to me carefully, Erik! You will leave Carlotta alone no matter what childish thing she does. There will be no strange noises or any odd tricks played upon her. Do you hear me?"

"Why in the world not!" he blurted angrily. "I will not stand by while someone mistreats you, Brielle!"

"Really? Why ever not? You used to be so good at turning a blind eye while I was being mistreated. Perhaps a little change of locations will help you out in that endeavor!" Brielle exploded before she could stop herself. Instantly regretting the blatant meanness of what she had said Brielle raised a surprised hand up to cover her gaping mouth.

Whatever the masked man had planned on saying in response, died before it left his mouth. In the darkness she could see his shoulders slump slightly as he turned his face away from her. Silence ruled for several tense moments as Aria shifted slightly between them, her small head turning first to stare up at her mother then at Erik. Clearing her throat nervously, Brielle opened her mouth to apologize but found that she couldn't find the right words to say.

After another few agonizing moments passed she let out a deep sigh. "I appreciate your concern, but you really have no right to tell me what to do," she said quickly, wanting desperately to break the unbearable silence. "And you really shouldn't judge Carlotta so harshly."

"Oh? And why is that? From what I can tell she deserves to be judged as a sniveling little shrew."

"For being a man who has suffered the cruelties of the world and one who has always demanded tolerance but never gotten it, you certainly are an intolerant cad sometimes," Brielle sighed, as she reached down to take Aria's hand in her own. "I might not like Carlotta but at least I can see the reasons behind her selfishness. She feels that an end is coming that maybe she isn't ready for yet. Fear often makes people do strange things. You would do well to exercise more restraint in forming opinions about people."

With that said, Brielle turned, stalking out of the curtains, pulling Aria behind her. _Well that went badly. I am turning into a nag...I didn't mean to say all of that but it just kept pouring out. Maybe Conner had the right idea…maybe a party is just the thing to work the hostility out of me. God I could use a drink!_

"Momma, w-why w-were you yelling at Erik?" Aria finally asked as they drew closer to the riotous music playing from the stage.

"I really don't know," Brielle said on a sigh as she felt her righteous anger desert her.

"W-Well you shouldn't," the child continued. "H-He is trying to be good."

Bending down to plant a kiss on Aria's head, Brielle smiled. "How did I ever get such a smart little girl?" she asked herself as they stepped out upon the stage and into the crowd of revelers.

Light and music bathed Brielle's senses as she surveyed the gathered crowd with a small amount of trepidation. _Lord, there are a lot of people here!_ The entire stage was packed with people of all classes and positions. Laughter and conversation droned underneath the loud four piece band, creating an exciting buzz that filled the entire theater. Energy cracked through the air as several couples began whirling about the floor, clearing a large section in the middle of the stage for the unofficial dance floor. _Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought it would be…_

No sooner did they appear in the crowd than Meg came pushing her way through the other partygoers toward them. "Brielle! I didn't think you were coming," she huffed as she came up alongside the Irishwoman, waving quickly to Aria before she linked arms with Brielle. "I am glad you decided to come. People are already starting to get drunk and this is just the first hour. At least together we can fight off the stagehands!" Meg said with a laugh.

"I don't think you would need any help in kicking unwanted behinds off the edge of the stage," Brielle replied, her mood lightening slightly as she glanced around the room at all of the happy faces surrounding her. "Do you know where my brother is?"

Meg's smile instantly pinched shut into an annoyed line. "Off chasing skirts no doubt," the blonde said quickly. "But no I haven't seen him lately. The one time I spotted him he turned straight around and ran off into the crowd. Does he always act so strangely?"

"Most times, yes," Brielle said with a laugh. "Though I am sure he didn't mean anything by it."

"Oh, I am not mad about that," Meg said, casually inspecting her nails. "I wouldn't have even noticed that he was ignoring me except for the fact that he knocked over about two stagehands in order to run off."

Watching the blonde carefully out of the corner of her eyes, Brielle was slightly alarmed by the feigned indifference she saw in Meg's expression. _Conner better be careful…apparently Meg isn't as immune to his charms as I thought. _Opening her mouth to respond, Brielle was interrupted when Meg cut her off.

"Though I have heard that he has already downed an entire bottle of wine," Meg continued, prattling on for a terribly long time about someone she had just said she didn't care about.

"Who has already had an entire bottle of wine?" A sharp disapproving voice demanded from behind the trio.

Wincing, Meg and Brielle both turned to face the older Giry woman. "Oh, no one mother," Meg said sheepishly.

Raising one auburn eyebrow first at her daughter then at Brielle, Madame Giry tapped her fingers against the dark handle of her cane. "Uh-huh…You just make sure you don't get yourself into any trouble, Meg Giry, or I will have your behind!" she chided. Turning her attention to where Aria hung on her mother's skirts, the ballet mistress's hard expression broke into a soft smile. "Come to see the party, have you?"

Nodding happily, Aria let go of Brielle and padded over to the older woman, holding up her arms until Madame Giry bent and picked her up off the floor. "B-But I am n-not supposed to get w-wild," Aria said seriously, making Madame Giry laugh.

"Sound advice," she replied before looking to Brielle. "I am going to steal your daughter for a while. I hope you don't mind. If you need us we will be sitting and watching the young people dancing." And without further ado the ballet mistress swept off to go and sit near the back of the stage where several couples were twirling across the floor in time with the music.

Brielle shared a surprised look with Meg before they both burst out laughing. "There really is no arguing with her is there?" Brielle asked.

"No there isn't," Meg chuckled. "I hope you really don't mind."

"Oh, it is all right. Aria will have more fun watching the dancing than being dragged around by me," Brielle said as she tried to wave off a young man with a tray of wine glasses. When the teenager didn't take the hint, Meg snatched the bottle and the two remaining glasses from the tray and then gave the boy a swift push away from them. Pushing one of the glasses into Brielle's hands Meg took a gulp from her own cup.

"BRIELLE!" An all-too-familiar voice bellowed from across the stage, barely being heard over the din of the musicians and the gathered crowd.

Stiffening at the sound, Meg turned her head towards where Conner was waving at them over the tops of other people's heads. "Oh…I just forgot I have something I have to do," Meg said quickly as she whirled about and shot off in the opposite direction, leaving Brielle staring after her.

_Oh my God…please tell me I don't act like that around Erik! I would just die…_Without thinking about it, Brielle raised the glass of red wine to her lips and took a hearty swallow just as her brother broke through the crowd. Perhaps it was the first warm bubbling of the wine in her stomach, but Brielle knew then that she didn't want to act as silly as Meg and Conner were. _Lord…loving someone is a pain in the ass._

"There you are!" he said a little more loudly than was necessary as he came up alongside her, draping an arm around her shoulders. "I have been looking all over for you!"

Sagging under his weight, Brielle tried to push his arm off of her but to no avail. "I hear that you have already had a bottle of wine. I doubt you were looking that hard!"

"Gahhh, who told you that pack of lies!"

"Meg did."

Jumping as if someone had poked him with a needle, Conner looked anxiously over his shoulder. "She isn't still around, is she?"

"No…I think you scared her off. But for the love of God, quit leaning on me so. You are going to topple me over!"

Smiling sheepishly, the redhead removed his arm and took a step back, looking surprisingly steady considering the amount of alcohol he had consumed. "Isn't this a great party?" he asked brightly. "This is exactly what everyone needed."

"You most of all, right?" Brielle asked sarcastically as another wave of soothing warmth from the wine went to her head. Automatically she raised the glass to her lips again with a smile.

"You bet," Conner replied lightly, casually shoving a man who had staggered too close to him with a full bottle of wine. When the fellow fell to the floor with a laugh, Conner bent down and snatched the bottle away from him, filling Brielle's glass in one easy gesture. "Hey, before I forget, can I ask you something?" he asked, between taking a swallow from the bottle in his hand.

"Yes, I suppose," Brielle replied, frowning down at the man on the floor as he crawled off into the crowd.

"When you married John you were in love with him, right?"

"Yes, what kind of question is that, Conner? Are you trying to depress me?" Brielle demanded, pushing away Conner's bottle when he tried to pour more into her glass.

"No…I am not trying to depress you. It was just a simple question…" Pausing for a moment the redhead raised a hand to scrub over his face in agitation. "So that means you know how it feels, right? To be in love that is."

Blinking up at her brother a little fuzzily, Brielle tried to make sense of what he was saying. "What in the world are you talking about?" Leaning forward, Conner tilted the bottle into Brielle's glass again. Jerking her arm back out of his reach, she was slightly startled to see that her glass was completely empty. _When did that happen?_

"So tell me…what it felt like. I am curious."

Raising an eyebrow in his direction, she was about to say something flippant but the hint of seriousness in his expression stopped her. "It felt really wonderful. Like I was floating two inches off the floor. A sweet, gentle feeling. Like coming home after a long absence."

Narrowing his eyes in thought, Conner nodded slightly. "Ah…so it was easy, right? Made you really happy?" he asked, a slow relieved smile playing across his face.

About to nod her head in agreement Brielle suddenly stopped, thinking of her tumultuous feelings for a certain Phantom. "Well…sometimes. Then of course there are the times when you think you are losing your mind. When all you can think about is that one person…and wondering what they are doing...always questioning if what you are feeling is the right thing. When every breath comes on the hope of seeing them again."

Grimacing openly, Conner let out a string of curses, raising a hand to run through his already wild hair. Turning, he stalked away from Brielle several paces before whirling about and returning to her side. "Are you sure? I mean maybe you are a little confused. That IS your fourth glass of wine," he said hopefully.

Scoffing at that, Brielle pointed a finger at her brother. "This is not my fourth glass. It is my second!" she said defensively before looking down to once again find her cup empty. _Wow…no wonder I am starting to feel so lightheaded…four…that can't be right._ "And I am not confused that is exactly how I feel about….um…felt…"

Smiling over his sister's slip of the tongue, Conner planted a kiss on her cheek, the anxiety which had been darkening his features once again hidden behind his infectious grin. "Oh…that is how it _feels_ huh?"

"Shut up. You know what I meant!"

"Yeah…I sure do!" Conner said, dodging when Brielle swiped at him with one hand. "You should really think about getting out on the dance floor, Bri. I find a little fun always helps keep your mind off of things."

Grabbing hold of her brother's arm before he could run off, Brielle forced him to look back at her. "Conner, dancing and drinking and fooling around will not always be enough. Eventually a person has to face reality."

Patting her hand, Conner dropped his eyes to the floor, avoiding her worried stare. "That is where you are wrong, Bri. I have faced reality a long time ago and made peace with my chosen way of life. What I refuse to do is allow myself fall for someone like Da fell for our Mother. You were too young to remember…but I know what love can do to a man. A part of him died the day she did." Pulling out of Brielle's grip, Conner blew her a quick kiss and disappeared into the crowd.

Left completely flabbergasted over her brother's uncharacteristically candid statement, Brielle could only stare after him, watching his bright head weave towards the dance floor near the back of the stage. _Wow…he has it bad, doesn't he? I thought it was just an infatuation before…but now…could it really be that he is falling for Meg? What a thought!_ "Someone must have put something in the water…everyone is going insane."

"Pardon me, Madame," A man's voice inquired from behind her then, causing her to spin about, startled by the intrusion on her thoughts.

"What!" she snapped before she could temper the irritation in her tone. Glaring openly up at the averagely handsome man grinning down at her, Brielle jerked back a step when he made as if to touch her arm, and the alcohol-laced good mood which she had been basking in evaporated almost instantly.

Slightly taken aback by her unfriendly reply, the man's smile faltered upon his face. "Er…do you want to dance?" he asked hopefully.

"No," Brielle said quickly. "Bye now."

Still not taking the hint, the man lingered a little longer. "Well, how about if…"

"She said no. Now shoo!" Meg piped up as she came skirting around the edge of the crowd. Faced with two unfriendly females, the man gave up and slunk off just as Meg came up alongside Brielle, her large brown eyes scanning the people around the Irishwoman. "Hey, Brielle, can you believe these men? They are enough to make a girl pull her hair out."

"I know what you mean," Brielle said with a smile, suddenly feeling extremely happy to see her friend back again, her momentary irritation passing as she linked arms with Meg. "So did you decide it was safe to come back since Conner left?" she asked as she snagged a bottle off of a passing woman's tray.

Trying to look indignant at that, Meg only lasted a few moments before bursting out laughing. "No! I wasn't even looking over here….why, did he say something about me?"

Laughing along with Meg, Brielle shook her head. "I am not going to tell you!"

"Ah, you are so mean," Meg said, wrinkling her nose.

"I can't help it," Brielle gasped between chuckles. "I think I am halfway drunk."

"Fine. I don't care if you tell me or not!" Meg said, crossing her arms as she looked off past Brielle to where all the couples were dancing a few yards away. "But I think you should know that Momma took Aria to bed about fifteen minutes ago."

"What? What time is it?"

"Around ten o'clock, I think."

"Really? That thing about flying time…no…time flying is true!"

Continuing to gaze off at the dance floor, Meg only nodded vaguely, her expression quickly darkening. Following Meg's line of sight, Brielle caught sight of her brother dancing rather vigorously with some yet unidentifiable female. Without a word, the blonde took Brielle's hand in hers and she set off to get closer to the dance floor. Stumbling along after her friend the Irishwoman mentally cursed Conner's timing.

"Meg, I hate this song the musicians are playing. Let's go over and ask them to play something else," Brielle said quickly, wanting to distract Meg from the racy scene playing out in front of them.

Ignoring Brielle's suggestion, Meg came to a sudden stop near the edge of the dance floor. Wincing, Brielle recognized the graceful woman Conner was currently twirling across the floor. Raising a hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose, Brielle shook her head when Conner dipped Maryann, the whiny prima ballerina, until the top of her head almost scraped the floor. _God, he had to pick one of the most annoying girls here._ Maryann let out a high-pitched squeal of laughter as Conner drew her upright again; at the sound of the other girl's giggling, Meg tensed up next to Brielle.

"Um, Meg…" Brielle began, laying a hand on her friend's arm.

A bright white-hot surge of jealousy billowed up behind Meg's normally soft brown eyes, filling her small body until she was practically shaking with the emotion. Shrugging off Brielle's hand, Meg marched forward onto the dance floor, pushing other couples out of the way in her hurry to get to the center, her focus never leaving the redheaded Irishman and petite ballerina in front of her. Unable to do anything but watch, Brielle clasped her hands nervously in front of her, hoping all the while that Meg wouldn't do something she would later regret. _She isn't normally this confrontational…this could be bad._

Planting herself directly behind Maryann as the other ballerina continued to giggle insipidly, Meg reached out and poked the girl in the shoulder. Starting as if she had been stuck with a hot poker, Maryann turned toward Meg, a sour expression pinching the prima ballerina's face. At that exact same moment, Conner met Meg's gaze over the top of his dance partner's head, his green eyes widening in shock.

"Oh, look, it is the _little_ Giry," Maryann said sweetly, turning back to Conner with an insidious grin stretching across her face. "Go away, Meg. _Some_ people are trying to dance around here."

Having opened her mouth to say something to the other dancer, Meg shut it again after Maryann's falsely sweet statement, apparently losing some of the alcohol-induced momentum which had carried her out onto the floor. Fisting her hands at her sides, Meg's delicate golden curls shivered about her face as she stared furiously at Maryann's back, struggling for something to say; her eyes automatically rising to meet Conner's once again.

Tensing at the condescending tone Maryann used to speak to Meg, Conner's worried expression disappeared behind barely controlled aggravation. His green eyes hardened, turning sharp as broken glass as he lowered his gaze to look into Maryann's upturned face.

"Yeah, trying is the right word," he blurted out rudely, looking completely shocked with himself as he clamped his treacherous mouth shut, a dark blush working its way up his throat to stain his freckled cheeks a bright red, all the while flickering his eyes to Meg's face.

Seeming to draw whatever strength she had been lacking a moment ago from his statement, Meg raised her chin up and tapped Maryann on the shoulder again. "That is your cue to exit stage left, Maryann," Meg cooed, echoing the prima ballerina's sickeningly sweet tone.

Maryann's mouth dropped open in outrage as she looked back and forth between Conner and Meg, not completely believing that anyone would have the nerve to speak to her like that. Raising her chin up stubbornly, she fixed her steely gaze upon Conner long enough to slap him across the face before turning and flouncing off into the crowd. "If you want to waste your time with a second-rate partner then by all means go ahead," she called nastily over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Left looking after the retreating dancer's figure as she weaved through the other couples, Meg and Conner slowly brought their eyes back to each other. Shifting awkwardly, Conner raised a hand to rake through his unruly hair, looking for the first time in his life like he didn't know what to say. "Sorry…normally I don't speak to a lady like that but…she shouldn't have said those things about you," he said with a shrug, dropping his gaze almost shyly to the floor.

"Yes, well…I don't normally pick fights like that either," Meg said with a nervous laugh.

Catching Meg's eye, Brielle gave her an encouraging motion, mouthing for her to dance with Conner. _Now that I am sure they both feel the same way…it is time that they should stop fooling around. _Grinning to herself she watched Meg turn back to Conner and step into his stunned hands, Brielle turned and slowly made her way to the edge of the crowd. Raising a hand to her head, she waited for the room to stop spinning as she stumbled slightly off to stage right, leaving the gay music and bright laughter of the party behind her. _I definitely drank too much…which is funny since I never meant to drink anything at all. I am a blessed mother after all…I have no business getting intoxicated…I…_

Weaving to the left, Brielle lost her balance and toppled to the floor. Laughing for no apparent reason she lay where she was, content not to get up right away. The sound of a footstep behind her did nothing to put a damper on her drunken hilarity. Turning her head slightly she watched a pair of highly polished men's dress shoes stride across the floor toward her. A thrill raced up her spine as those shoes stopped about a foot in front of her, and though she hadn't seen the man's face she was sure she knew who was now standing over her. The certainty only grew stronger as the man knelt and placed a hand upon her back, and with his touch came a deep visceral sense of recognition that made her heart skip a beat within her chest. _Erik…_

A deep defeated sigh escaped her throat as she closed her eyes. The cool logical voice within her head wound down into silence, no longer counting the cost of the future. As Brielle opened her eyes to the blessed silence in her mind she smiled. _Erik…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Deeply upset by the tone of his last meeting with Brielle, Erik had stood like a statue in the shadows, paralyzed by what she had said. The truth of her words had cut through his mind like a razor blade, leaving him reeling and alone to drown in the endless whirlpool of is own thoughts. _I demand tolerance…but am intolerant. When did I fall into the shoes of those who made my life a hell? _

Having finally found the strength to pull himself out of his musings and move, Erik made his way quickly up several flights of stairs to look down upon the stage from a bird's eye view. It was from this vantage point he watched the revelers down below, always keeping a close watch over Brielle and Aria. An hour passed far too quickly as the sinking sensation in his stomach faded and he found a smile touching his lips, his eyes reflecting the torchlight from down below as he silently laughed over Aria's mad dancing near Madame Giry's side. _Brielle is going to have a terrible time putting that one to bed tonight. Perhaps reading the child a little bit of the book I gave her would help…_

Just as Erik contented himself with that idea, the dance mistress led Aria away, and he once again turned his attention to Brielle. When he finally spotted her particular dark head out of the sea of people, he was more than just a little annoyed to find some young man bothering her for a dance. For a split second he watched the scene with impassive regard; until, that is, the stranger reached out and laid his hand upon Brielle's arm. Jerking up straight Erik ground his teeth as caustic rivers of pure jealousy shot through his veins. Sitting forward to watch the scene better, Erik glared down from above with a morose and explosive fascination until the very moment the young man walked away defeated.

But even after he watched Meg race up to Brielle's side laughing about something, Erik found that he could not relax the viselike grip he had upon one of the backdrop ropes which was hanging near his head. Something unnamable about watching another man show interest in Brielle served to make one thing poignantly clear to him. He realized that he didn't want any other man to so much as look in her direction and that he wished, with every fiber of his being for it to be _him_ to ask her to dance and laugh with her. Suddenly, his chosen position in the shadows no longer held the appeal it once had, and for the first time in a long time the urge to show himself in front of strangers, if it meant to be nearer Brielle's side, clouded his judgment.

Without thinking Erik climbed to his feet, stalking quickly along the catwalk with an agility born of years of practice. Passing the staircase to the lower floors, he grabbed hold of a rope and swung out over the three-story drop without the slightest bit of hesitation. Sliding down the length of the rope, he hit the floor with a thud, his eyes instantly turning to the blazing light coming from the stage. Pausing with his hand still upon the rope he suddenly realized what he was doing. Looking around quickly, he ducked out of sight, wondering over his sanity. _I was not just about to walk out into the middle of the damned stage! That is not what I was just doing!_

Shaking his head Erik leaned against a large set piece. _Yes…that IS what I was doing…I swear to God that woman is going to be the death of me one of these days._ Tilting his head to the side, the masked man listened to the stumbling footsteps of a partygoer walking down the hallway. _Well it sounds like someone was having a fun tonight._ A hiccup sounded as the person came closer to his hiding place, making his brows draw down into a frown. _Wait a second…that sounded almost like…_A loud thump of a body hitting the floor was punctuated by an overly loud bellow of laughter. Pushing away from the wall, Erik strode around the set piece he was lounging behind, his eyes instantly spotting the black-haired woman laying face first on the ground. Though he couldn't see the lady's face, he was certain of who was sprawled across the hallway.

Hurrying forward, he came to kneel next to Brielle, one hand going out to touch her gently on the back. The worry was an instant sickness in his stomach until she smiled goofily up at him. "What are you doing? Are you alright?" he asked quickly, becoming irritated when she stifled a laugh.

"Did I fall down?" she asked vaguely, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

"Yes…are you drunk?" he accused, the disapproval he heard in his own tone giving him pause.

Ignoring his question, Brielle threw open her arms and wrapped them tightly around his neck. "I knew it was you! I didn't see you but I knew! I am so glad you are here…I have something very important to say to you!" she gushed, sagging against his chest with her head falling onto his shoulder.

Startled by this uncustomary display of affection, Erik froze, every muscle in his body tensing up as he struggled to figure out how to respond. After a moment of taut silence he raised both hands up to make an attempt at prying Brielle's hands off of him. The softness of her body pressing so intimately against him was quickly becoming a distraction. "You can tell me tomorrow when you actually know what you are talking about," he said a bit raggedly.

Resisting his attempts to pull away, Brielle fisted her hands in the folds of his cloak. "I am in full control of what I am saying," she stated airily before bursting into gales of laughter.

Feeling the tug of a smile touching his face, Erik quickly cleared his throat and fixed a fierce frown into place. "Then why did you fall over?"

Seemingly stumped by that question, Brielle raised her head to look directly into his face. Her eyes, lamp-like in the darkness, seemed to stare right into him, invading his soul within a second's breath. Releasing her hold upon his clothing, she raised a hand to trace the furrow between his brows. "Always so serious," she murmured quietly, the tone of her voice dipping seductively lower.

A thrill shivered through his body as her finger traced across his forehead and down his left cheek, stopping only when she came to the corner of his mouth. Transfixed by the intoxicating power of her gentle touch, Erik felt himself turn his face into her hand. A moment passed before he brought his eyes slowly up to hers. Steadily watching his every move with those knowing storm gray eyes, Brielle brushed the very tips of her fingers over his bottom lip, sending a shock wave of sensation boiling up his spine. Jolted into motion, Erik jerked away from her touch and staggered to his feet, his heart thundering within his chest as a blush worked its way up his neck. _What am I doing? She is drunk, she doesn't know what she does…_

"I think you should be put to bed…" he said unsteadily, raising a hand to scrub across his face as he fought for control.

Shrugging, Brielle leaned forward and tugged upon his pant leg, once again ignoring what he said. "I am sorry I was so mean before, Erik. I think it is because you confuse me so sometimes."

Peering down at her between his fingers the masked man sighed. "And what? You aren't confused now?"

"Oh no…everything is clear now. That is why I have something to tell you. See I don't want to act like a moron like my brother is. Though I think he is getting better. But I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn't ever love another man…but I am not really sure we get to decide such things. And Father Thomas told me today that I was standing in judgment of you…which I didn't even realize I was doing. People can find forgiveness for the past…and your past is no exception…I shouldn't have been so nasty to you," she babbled earnestly, slipping back and forth between Gaelic and French, until Erik bent down and helped pull her to her feet.

"You know you aren't making any sense at all right?" he asked as he set her on her feet, taking a careful step away from her when she moved to embrace him again. _She really has to stop doing that…_he thought as he warily watched her sway a little unsteadily.

Waving a hand in his direction, Brielle raised a finger to her lips. "Shh…don't talk so loud!"

"I wasn't talking loud," Erik replied with a laugh, unable to stand unmoved before the hilarious situation unfolding before him.

"Well, then come here…I think I am going to fall over you crazy man," she demanded, sounding more like her normal no-nonsense self.

Hesitating for a split second, Erik let out a shaky breath. _Okay, Erik…Take control…just…just take control of yourself. This is Brielle…the woman who befriended you…Don't think of how fantastic it felt to have her arms around you._ But deep in his gut he knew this excuse could not work for long. Since the moment he saw her step through the Opera's doors something had changed between them. The long absence, the percolating anger only served to add a new and dangerous edge to their relationship. There was a desperate urgency shimmering just under the surface of their every meeting a look. _A friend…the dearest sort of friend._

Holding out a hand he gently took Brielle's in his own. "You really need to get to bed. I daresay you are going to feel terrible tomorrow."

Hopping a step closer to him, her fingers easily weaving through his, Brielle leaned against his shoulder. "Yes, but I feel wonderful now!" she replied smoothly, laying her free hand against his chest. "Lead on! It is time to go to bed!"

"Yes, well…" he said, shying away from her touch as he took a step forward, leading Brielle down the hall slowly.

They walked along steadily for some time before Brielle's coordination began to deteriorate. Even with Erik's support her feet started to drag, tripping her up so much that finally he gave in and put his arm around her waist. As he tried to pick up the pace, finding the close contact extremely disconcerting, Brielle began to giggle beside him. Looking down at her to see what was so funny, Erik once again found her silliness tugging a smile from his reluctant mouth.

"This is all so strange. The Phantom of the Opera is practically carrying me back to my room…looking out for me. Thank you, Erik…especially after what I said earlier," Brielle finally said, gripping the front of Erik's jacket tighter when her feet went out from under her again.

"Don't thank me. Everything you said was true. I have never had the pleasure of having someone in my life who wasn't afraid to be honest with me. Until I met you of course."

Raising her head to gaze up at him, the smile slipped from Brielle's face, her eyes going dark as she focused in on the shyness creeping into his expression. "I don't know what took me so long to figure it out," she breathed.

"Figure what out?"

"That I love you," she replied quickly, her voice going soft, caressing his ears with every word.

Stopping in his tracks Erik's eyes darted back to her face, sure he had misheard her. "What?" he asked, hearing the word falling from his mouth without any conscious thought of forming it.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," she repeated, with each repetition making his heart stop and shudder into a start again.

"Do not say that…" he pleaded quietly.

Without another word Brielle rose up on her toes, tipping forward until her lips practically fell against his, pressing firmly against his mouth, her sweet wine-laced breath washing over his face. Caught off-guard, his hands instantly came up to wrap about her waist without any of the normal hesitation in his touch. Urgently she moved her mouth over his, trying to draw him out of his temporary paralysis with each subtle movement. He was able to resist for a moment longer before the power of his desire refused to be repressed any longer.

All thought came to a crashing halt within his mind, for the first time in his life leaving his head as empty as the Opera's cellars after sunset. Distantly he felt her hands slide up to curl behind his neck, drawing him closer, pulling at his heart as time itself ground to a stop. Forgetting for a moment that he shouldn't return the touch, that she must be making some sort of mistake, Erik gave a shudder as his arms tightened around her waist, crushing her soft pliant body to him in a moment of carnal surrender.

Stumbling to the side from the force of their embrace, the couple nearly toppled over the scattered set pieces at their feet. Paying the misstep no mind, they only clung tighter until Erik's back hit the far wall, steadying his reeling senses enough for him to momentarily break contact to change the angle of the kiss. Absently he heard the metallic _ping_ of his tie pin as it shot off into the night, sprung free when Brielle's wandering hands tugged at his neckline. Heat spread like a wildfire from low in his stomach to set his mind aflame with fire and light. Images filtered through the blazing inferno raging within his head, showing him snapshots of his life since the very moment he remembered truly feeling alive, since the moment he met Brielle. In his mind's eye he could see her smiling over the top of a book at him and the graceful way she always diffused his temper. Deep within his heart he finally felt whole.

Slowing the frantic pace they had set, Erik raised both hands to Brielle's face, gently caressing her warm cheeks as he trailed a series of kisses along the outline of her perfect mouth. Deepening the well of emotion filling up within him, this new, slower warmth spread through his body, enveloping his very being to the point where he could not tell where he stopped and Brielle began. This moment of sweet fullness did not last, Erik's formidable brain kicking back into motion after remaining quiet for far too long.

Pulling back reluctantly, Erik leaned his forehead against Brielle's. Breathing harshly, they stood together in the darkness holding onto each other in order to remain standing. _What have I done? I swore I wouldn't but I did it anyway…_ "Brielle, I am sorry…I shouldn't have taken advantage…I…"

Stopping in mid-apology, trying desperately to gather his scattered thoughts, Erik felt Brielle slump limply against him. Looking down he realized that the apology was unnecessary, for Brielle was now completely passed out against him, her small body clinging to his shirtfront even in unconsciousness. Leaning his head back against the wall behind him, Erik found himself wishing for strength as he bent at the waist and scooped her up into his arms. Walking unsteadily down the hall, he allowed the shock to numb his storming emotions, if just for a little while. Reaching Brielle's bedroom door, Erik quietly entered, careful not to wake the sleeping child in the cot across the room. Moving quickly to the larger of the two beds, he laid Brielle out upon the mattress, settling her head carefully against the pillow. Staring intently down at her sleeping face he took a deep breath.

_Conner said that there is more than one kind of love,_ he thought numbly. _She might not even remember any of this tomorrow. Please God…don't let her remember_…Sagging forward tiredly, Erik raised both hands up to cover his face, only then realizing the wet track of shocked tears staining his cheeks. _That can't happen again._


	51. Saying the Words

**Hey everyone! Here is the next chapter for your enjoyment. Hopefully it won't disappoint, hehe. Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews last week. You guys are so great. I really appreciate the feed back and I try to always take your suggestions into mind when writing the next chapter. So keep them coming. **

**As usual a huge thanks to Terpsichore314. She was out of town this weekend but she still managed to get this chapter edited as soon as she got back. Hurray for genius betas! **

**Oh…and I hope you all aren't getting tired of my mentioning it but IHeartPoto has done ANOTHER fantastic pic for my fic. And I have to say this one is my favorite! I was so excited when I first saw it! But if you want to see it just follow the following link.**

http/ www. deviantart. com/ view/ 28985803/

(As usual just remove the spaces. We have to do the space thing because otherwise the link won't show up.)

Chapter 51: Saying the Words

Brielle found herself suspended in a field of cool darkness as her mind languidly sorted through fuzzy thoughts and half-formed images. She felt herself smile as the thrilling sensation of her mouth moving boldly over a strangely familiar pair of lips drifted to the forefront of her memory. No image came with the feeling, giving the experience a heightened sense of physical awareness. Every motion, every breath and sound tickled her senses awake, causing a blush to work its way up her cheeks, because even without the aid of a face to go with the kiss, Brielle found that she knew exactly whose mouth it was pressed so passionately against hers.

Slowly, as electrifying bolts of pure pleasure shot through her, she became more aware of her body, the pillow under her head and the warm sheets draped over her, as she turned over in bed, but as she drew closer to waking, sneaking tendrils of pain lanced through the soothing emptiness of sleep, cutting through her mind like lightning through a black summer's night. Letting out a groan, Brielle finally squinted open her eyes, blurrily staring across the room at her own red-eyed reflection looking back at her from the mirror. She started slightly when her daughter's grinning face suddenly hopped into her field of vision.

"M-Momma, are you awake!" the child asked cheerfully, as she placed both hands upon the mattress.

Grunting a reply, Brielle raised her hands to her head, pressing against the painful pressure throbbing at her temples. "No, I think I died…" she mumbled. Closing her burning eyes, the Irishwoman grabbed hold of the blankets and pulled them over her head, trying to block out the light as much as possible.

"Well that isn't surprising," Erik's familiar baritone offered from somewhere near the foot of the bed, the barest hint of anxiety clipping his words into short bursts of sound.

_What does HE have to worry about? I am the one with a troll rolling about in my head,_ she thought grumpily before her brain was actually able to process the oddity of waking up with Erik in her room. As soon as she processed this fact, Brielle threw the blankets from her head and openly gaped down the length of the bed to where Erik sat in a chair watching her with intense interest. With the last phantoms of her dream still hanging within her mind, Brielle's blush began to intensify under his steady gaze, sure that he somehow had guessed what she had been dreaming about. _Oh my God…what if I said something in my sleep. _The pair locked gazes and didn't look away for several moments while an alarmingly powerful current shot through the air between them, igniting the air with a tension so concrete Brielle imagined for a moment that she could see the connections linking them.

Brielle opened her mouth to ask why he was there, to say anything to distract herself from the breathtaking emotion she could see swimming in the masked man's liquid blue eyes, but before a word could pass through her dry lips her eyes flickered away from his and dropped shyly down to his throat. With a vague sense of surprise she noticed that his normally immaculately tied cravat was hanging lopsided around his neck, the tiepin which normally held the knot closed at the base of his throat was completely missing.

Stunned, Brielle couldn't help but recall her embarrassing dream, the memory of a tiepin zipping off to click against a far wall coming to the forefront of her mind. Her brows came down into a frown as she looked more carefully at Erik's appearance, noticing with every second another trigger for her blurry memory of last night. _Oh…my…God…That was not a dream!_

Pulling the blankets up to her nose in an attempt to cover the mortified expression on her face, Brielle edged backward until her back was pressed against the headboard. The sick rolling within her stomach forced her to raise a hand to her mouth. She was sure that at any moment she would be sick. _What did we do? Why is he here this morning…what did we do?_

"What are you doing here?" she asked quietly.

Clearing his throat, Erik finally dropped his eyes from her face, ending his focused inspection of her expression with trepidation. "I knew you would feel ill this morning," he began slowly, the same cautious undertones deepening his every word. "So I decided to stay. And I mixed something to settle your stomach while you were sleeping." Pointing to a small bottle full of clear liquid sitting upon the bedside table, Erik raised a hand to pull absently at his cravat until the length of black silk came completely undone and hung limply around his neck.

"Because I had some extra time I also took the opportunity to fix Aria's music box as well," he finished, trying to sound casual as he secretly stole glances at Brielle from the corners of his eyes.

Taking the mention of her name as an invitation into the conversation, Aria clambered up onto the bed, leaning her small body up against her mother's side. "M-Momma, are y-you sick? I c-can get your m-medicine," the child said worriedly as she raised a hand to pat Brielle's face.

Glad for the distraction, Brielle leaned her burning face against her daughter's dark head. Closing her eyes for a moment, the Irishwoman allowed the feel of Aria's hair against her cheek to take precedence over the other embarrassing memories flooding her brain. "Don't worry. I will be fine. I just have a little headache."

Apparently pleased by this Aria turned and slipped off the bed to go over and pick up her newly repaired music box. Taking the toy to the corner of the small room, she turned the winding key and watched as the little monkey on top of the box jerked to life. Left in relative isolation with Erik, Brielle cautiously turned her eyes to where he sat. At the moment his attention was turned from her to regard with a slight smile as Aria played with her toy, his posture relaxing as he watched the child happily play. Free to openly study the man at the end of her bed, Brielle couldn't help but notice how handsome he looked when a smile crinkled up the corners of his eyes.

Sighing, Brielle shook her head. _Well…even if I did pretty much attack him last night it shouldn't change anything…Certainly doesn't change how I feel…and it is about time I start acting like an adult. Maybe it is time I start accepting the things I want rather than running away from them. Maybe it is time to stop worrying and just…just live. I am still young…too young to live with ice around my heart. And finally….finally I know exactly what I want. I just have to find the courage to take it._

Her expression calming, Brielle let the sheets drop to her sides. Sitting up straighter, she tried to ignore her pounding headache as she slid her legs off the edge of the bed. Touching her stockinged feet to the floor, she suddenly realized that she was in a rather shocking state of undress. Sometime while she had been passed out Erik must have removed the many layers of outer clothing proper for a woman of her standing, leaving her dressed in nothing but her plain cotton chemise. While this had saved her from a stiff back and sore ribs it was a rather humiliating discovery.

"I am never going to drink again," she griped to herself, her words finally drawing Erik's attention away from Aria and back to her.

"If you like I could try and fix up something for your head as well," he said, his eyes giving away the concern with which he regarded her hunched figure.

Waving a hand in his direction, she shook her head. When the simple motion sent the room spinning, she stopped and pressed a hand against her forehead. "No, I should suffer for being so foolish. I should have known better than to drink on an empty stomach. You are sweet to offer though."

"Sweet?" he snorted a little incredulously. "I believe you are the only person on this planet who would say such a thing."

"Well, it is true, nonetheless. I suppose I am just the only person on the planet with good taste." When Erik started to frown with disbelief, Brielle felt a smile pull the corners of her lips up. _Lord, is it so hard for him to accept a compliment?_ "But setting that aside I think we should talk a little about last night."

At her words Erik snapped up straight in his chair so quickly that several locks of his carefully combed hair fell out of place and into his eyes. He looked extremely worried. "If you would like…" he replied slowly as the fingers of both his hands dug into the flesh of his thighs, the apprehension apparent in every nuance of his posture.

Climbing to her feet, Brielle made her way over to the closet to grab a dressing gown. As she turned around she noticed with an odd sense of satisfaction that Erik's eyes were glued to her every movement. _Perhaps he isn't as indifferent as I thought…he is a man…maybe it wouldn't be impossible to convince him that there is more than friendship between us. There has to be more than just friendship…I know now that I wouldn't be able to live with only friendship. Not feeling the way that I do. I have to convince him to set aside his insecurities…I can do it…I am sure I can._ The hesitant hope this thought brought instantly spread a grin across her face.

Her smile apparently unnerved him, because he began to shift under her bright expression. Recognizing how uncomfortable he must be to so outwardly show his unrest, Brielle allowed her smile to dim. _He must be wondering if I remember last night or not. I hope he doesn't have a stroke when I say I do. The last time something like this happened he automatically assumed that he had somehow done something wrong. It took me forever to figure out how to lure him out of the blasted barn._

Tying the belt of her dressing gown about her waist, Brielle reached up and shook her hair out of the neck of the robe, only then realizing that along with the rest of her clothes that her dark wig was also missing. _With the life he has led how could he think anything else…I doubt any other woman has ever willingly kissed him. Except Christine of course…_

Her bright mood souring slightly at the unwanted thought of the young singer, Brielle tugged her loose braid of white hair. Shrugging the thought off, she turned and shuffled over to pull a chair up next to Erik's. _I will not turn into a jealous shrew…The poor girl isn't even here. _ "Firstly I think I owe you an apology," she began.

Erik stared blankly at her for a moment, his entire body tensed as if he expected her to attack him, before his shoulders sagged in confusion. "What?"

Taking a deep breath, Brielle smiled through the pounding in her head and in her heart. "I owe you an apology. I acted irresponsibly and put you in an awkward position."

Closing his gaping mouth with a snap, Erik colored and looked away from her. Guilt rather than confusion darkened his expression now. "Brielle…" he started reluctantly, his tone that of a man about to confess to some terrible crime.

Recognizing his mood as to be quickly descending into one of his black broods, Brielle quickly headed him off. "It all seems rather fuzzy still but I know I must have said some strange things." Falling quiet, Brielle frowned, trying to remember exactly what it was she said. _I am sure it must have been something mortifying by the way Erik is acting._

Licking his lips, Erik shut his mouth again, relief and disappointment warring for control of his features. "So you don't remember everything then? What you said…" Disappointment seemed to be winning out as he broke eye contact and dropped his gaze to his feet. "I thought as much…that you were too intoxicated to know what you were saying," he sighed.

_He looks so melancholy. What did I say?_ Raising a hand to brush some of her hair behind one ear, Brielle momentarily glanced in Aria's direction. The child sat upon the floor near the mirror, avidly listening to everything the two adults were saying. "Aria…wouldn't you like to go and play?"

A smile slowly spread across Aria's face, her dimples flashing as she shook her head back and forth. "Noooo," she said happily.

Huffing, Brielle pursed her lips, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with her daughter listening to every word she said, especially since she had just decided to essentially seduce Erik. "Aria…" she said warningly.

Climbing to her feet, seemingly unaffected by her mother's severe tone, Aria walked calmly to the door. "I am g-going now, b-but I will b-be back s-so you b-both better b-be nice!" she said matter-of-factly. Turning, she opened the door and exited the room, giving both Brielle and Erik a serious look before disappearing out into the hall.

Something about the five-year-old's warning struck Brielle as funny, and though she was incredibly nervous, now that she was alone in the room with Erik, she couldn't stop the laugh from bursting out of her mouth. "She is so funny. It almost sounded like we were the children."

A shadow of a smile flickered across Erik's face as he looked up at her. "She does have her own way of doing things, doesn't she? I suppose she must get that from you."

"Erik, what did I say last night?" Brielle asked gently without missing a beat, hoping to catch him slightly off guard. Erik's smile instantly vanished and the anxiety once again tightened his features. Feeling the loss of his smile like a blow, Brielle fiddled with the end of her dressing gown tie.

The masked man's heel began tapping a frantic rhythm against one of the chair legs, and as she watched Brielle could almost see the panic spread through his body. "Nothing of consequence…" he hedged.

"Erik…" Brielle said in the exact same tone she had used on her daughter moments ago.

Throwing a glance her way, Erik climbed to his feet. "You said nothing you should worry about. I am an adult…I know how to discern when a person doesn't know what they are saying…"

Likewise getting to her feet, if just a little less gracefully than her companion, Brielle followed Erik as he began to pace around the room. "Erik, tell me!"

Shaking his head, he retreated from her as if she carried the plague, backing all the way up until he was pinned against the far wall. "No, Brielle…don't make me say it," he begged, his voice breaking slightly on the last word. "Don't make me say it out loud…I feel foolish enough already."

Wondering at what could have possibly come out of her mouth to make him so edgy, Brielle held back for a moment, weakened by the quiet plea in his eyes. Hardening her resolve, she raised her chin slightly. "Tell me…"

He stared at her for a moment, not entirely believing that she was going to force him to do something he expressly asked not to do. Slowly the stare turned into a defensive glower, and the protective anger rose up within his eyes. Hissing out a breath, Erik straightened, glaring down at her from his full height, using every inch to his advantage. "Fine…if you insist, I will enlighten you."

Casually he gave a jerk to his jacket, straightening his clothing fastidiously. "You said many things, but I suppose the most notable highlight of the discussion was when you said how much you loved…" Despite his now chilly demeanor he had to stop to clear his throat. "That you loved me."

Nodding her head, her mouth forming a perfect 'o,' Brielle felt a smile smooth the frown from her face. _I should have known as much…it HAD to be something like that for him to act so strangely. Strange…I don't feel as embarrassed as I thought I would…_ "Erik…"

Waving a dismissive hand, Erik gave a shrug. "Like I said before…you didn't know what you were saying. I know this. I also know that there are many nuances to that word. We are friends, after all…one would expect some level of…of affection to be between us," he said, calmly explaining the word away as a muscle began to twitch in his left cheek.

Stepping forward, Brielle reached out and brushed a hand along his upper arm. At her touch, Erik's head snapped up and he instinctively jerked out from under her fingers, his eyes glittering brokenly. "Don't, Brielle…" he growled, a feral, desperate light sharpening his gaze. "Don't touch me right now."

Unintimidated by his fierce blustering, Brielle ignored his command and stepped forward. Moving to within inches of him, she spread her arms and wrapped them about his taut torso, pressing her face into the soft cotton of his black jacket. Tightening her grip when every muscle in his body tensed, Brielle held on, listening to his heart banging like a caged bird within his ribcage.

"I do love you, Erik," she said quietly against his chest as it heaved with every breath. "I do love you."

Several moments passed as they stood pressed together in breathless tension before a dramatic change washed over Erik. A great sigh rushed out of him, releasing the built-up pressure like the steam from a kettle. He sagged in her embrace, every muscle turning to water. In slow, incremental movements the masked man's hands came up to hover a breath away from touching her arms. Closing his hands into fists, he took a deep breath and then released it as he opened his clenched fingers and laid both hands upon her shoulders. Lowering his head in defeat, Erik let his left cheek fall against the top of her head, his hands sliding around her slight form to return her fierce embrace.

"I know," he murmured against her snowy hair. "I have always longed for those words…but I didn't know how hard it would be to finally hear them."

"You believe me when I say it though?" she asked. He turned his head subtly then so that his lips brushed her hair, and through the intimate contact she could feel a slight smile soften his mouth. A shiver of delight raced up Brielle's spine as she felt her own lips pull up into a smile in an answer to his.

"Yes, I believe you…How could I not? You are the one truth in my life."

Biting her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, Brielle closed her eyes, trying to gather her wits. _The man certainly has a natural way with his words._ She thought shakily, her heart seemingly expanding within her chest until she was sure she would die from the exquisite pain. A moment of lingering fear darkened the lightness, but it passed when Brielle forcefully pushed it aside. _No more counting the cost. I know how it felt to be without him…I will never be willing to feel that way again._ Tilting her head back, the Irishwoman put a little space between them so that she could see his expression.

"Promise that we won't ever be apart again," she whispered earnestly.

A vague expression of wonder wrinkled Erik's brow as he leaned back to study her upturned face. "How could I stay away?" he finally asked with a funny little shrug, as if the words falling out of his mouth embarrassed him.

Smiling, Brielle released her hold on his jacket, reaching up between them she tugged upon his cravat, straightening the dangling silk in an attempt to retie it. "Well, I suppose we are stuck together then."

"May God have mercy on our souls," Erik quipped, breaking the seriousness of the moment enough to send them both into peals of laughter.

"Ah! Shame upon you for saying such things!" Brielle laughed as she gave a jerk on his tie, pulling his face playfully closer. They both continued to chuckle to themselves, comfortable enough with each other to stay standing inches apart. It seemed natural when Brielle rose up on her toes and pressed her smiling mouth against Erik's in a light kiss. Only when she was pulling away did she realize what she had done.

Seeing the blank, stunned expression on his face, Brielle felt the anxiety stir within her again. _Ack…maybe I shouldn't have done that…too fast? _She opened her mouth to say something to break the silence when there was a knock upon her door. Erik's eyes shot up to the door as Brielle turned her head around to follow his line of sight. Horrified, Brielle watched the doorknob begin to turn, Meg's voice calling her name through the door.

Silently Erik released his hold on Brielle and swept across the small room to press the flat of his hand against the smooth plank of wood. Frozen where she was, her heart pounding frantic beats within her chest, Brielle could only wonder at the grace with which he had moved. The masked man turned toward her when the door jumped under his hand, indicating with a quick gesture for her to do something with his free hand, his fingers shaking slightly with the movement.

"Brielle? What is going on? Your door is stuck!" Meg called from the other side of the door.

Grimacing, Brielle crossed the room to stand next to Erik. "Oh, don't worry about it. It does this every once in a while. I just have to give it a good jerk is all. Stand back, all right?" Brielle said loudly. Turning her attention to the man standing next to her, Brielle lowered her voice to a whisper. "What do we do? She can't see you…"

"Brielle? Who are you talking to in there?" Meg's voice asked worriedly from outside.

Raising a finger to his lips to indicate the need for quiet, Erik reached down and carefully took Brielle's hand and placed it against the door. Free now to step away, he leaned forward to murmur in Brielle's ear. "I am surprised that you have such little faith, Brielle," he said teasingly, trying to lighten the tension still hanging in the air, quickly composing his expression into impassive. Backing away from her, he turned and strolled over to the mirror. Brielle watched in astonishment, her mouth falling open in disbelief, as the masked man calmly flicked a stone near the mirror's edge and slid the pane of glass to the side. He moved to step across the threshold when Brielle was finally able to shut her gaping mouth.

"What the hell? Erik, there was a passage behind my mirror and you didn't SAY anything about it!" she gasped, nearly forgetting to keep her tone quiet. In reply Erik merely turned and raised his finger to his lips again before sliding the glass closed behind him. Studying the mirror from where she stood, Brielle tried to discern if Erik still stood behind its reflective surface. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, the Irishwoman felt a flush work its way up her face. _Oh my God! Someone could be standing behind that thing and I would never know…Hmm…I will have to rethink the whole dressing and undressing thing._ Jumping when another series of loud knocks rattled the door, Brielle turned away from the mirror and opened the door, every jolt against the wood echoing within her aching head.

Meg stood on the other side, her hand raised to knock again. Lowering her fist, the blonde gave a lopsided smile. "Who were you talking to, Brielle?" she asked slowly, her dark eyes moving past Brielle and into the room, obviously looking for a second person. "You look a little flushed…"

Cocking her head to the side, Brielle pasted a lightly confused expression on her face. "I don't know what you are talking about," she said with a forced smile. "There isn't anyone here."

"Hmm…" Meg replied with a shrug as she stepped past Brielle and into the room. Turning gracefully with her hands clasped behind her back, the dancer smiled. "Ah, I guess you really aren't hiding a secret beau then."

Quickly glancing at the mirror over Meg's shoulder, Brielle laughed and waved off Meg's statement. _You have no idea…_Closing the door behind her, Brielle moved to go and flop into one of the two chairs in the room. _I think I need some advice as to handle all of this…it has been a long time since I tried to get a man's attention. Hmm…Maybe I could ask Conner. He certainly knows a lot about men and women._ Brightening at the thought, Brielle turned her attention to her friend, happy now to listen to everything the blonde was chattering about.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Conner turned over in his bed, raising one hand up to cover his face. Frowning without opening his eyes, he tried to figure out what it was that had woken him. _What was it? Sounded almost like a footstep…_ Listening to the clock tick away in the corner of the room for several minutes, he finally gave up when no other sound reached his ears. Blindly groping for the edge of the blanket he pulled the balled up sheets over his head and settled in to slip back into unconsciousness, one leg hanging carelessly over the edge of the bed.

"Conner?" A familiar masculine voice inquired out of the quiet.

Jerking to the side with a curse, Conner threw the blankets from his face and squinted up at where Erik stood over him. "What is the idea sneaking in here and scaring the breath out of me!" the redhead demanded irritably. "I have a hangover that could kill a horse!"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Erik didn't seem all that sympathetic to Conner's state. In fact, he seemed rather on edge, color rode high up in his cheeks and his chest rose and fell far too fast. "It is already after twelve."

Sitting up, the redhead threw a pillow in Erik's general direction. "Yeah? Thanks for the time, ya ass! I just went to bed at six. Go away!"

Bending to pluck the pillow off the floor, Erik swung his arm back and smashed it over Conner's head. Raising his feathered weapon over his head again Erik held the pillow at the ready, a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes. "Unfortunately, due to extenuating circumstances, I haven't the patience to deal with your irritating personality. Will you sit up and talk to me or must I resort to more violence?"

Growling, Conner rose up onto his elbows and glowered up at Erik. "What the hell is so important that you have to come around here pestering me?" Blinking over at the closed door, the Irishman raised a hand to rub at his wild mop of hair. "How did you get in here anyway? I was sure I locked that…"

Lowering the pillow, Erik pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed and sat down. "Never mind that. I need to ask you something," the masked man said earnestly.

"No…forget it. You are driving me crazy. I don't care if you beat me to death with that stupid pillow…at least it would put me out of my misery." Closing his eyes, Conner turned his back to the masked man, and raising one hand to his temple he tried to massage the pain away. When he did not hear Erik take the hint and leave, the redhead glanced briefly over his shoulder. Erik was puffed up in frustration, his entire body tensed as he sat perfectly still to glare fixedly at the floor. Conner waited for the verbal explosion that he had come to expect from the masked man, but none came. Erik was silent. _He must be sick or something not to let me have it. _

Sighing heavily, Conner rolled onto his back. "All right, what is it that you want to know?"

Erik raised his stress-darkened gaze up to Conner's, searching the Irishman's face for a moment. "Are you serious then? That you will listen?"

"Yes…yes…If only to get you to leave," Conner grunted.

The masked man let out a breath, a relieved smile brightening his expression, if only for a moment. "It is about your sister," Erik said hurriedly. "I must ask your advice. I find Brielle to be…extremely vexing of late. I…"

Holding up a staying hand, Conner grimaced dramatically, attempting to lighten the almost feverish tension he sensed emanating from Erik. Cocking his eyebrow over the masked man's unkempt appearance, he wrinkled his nose in mock disgust. "So…she has been _vexing _you, huh? Sir, please, you aren't going to confide some sordid tale involving my sister, are you? I don't think my already weak stomach could stand the thought."

Acknowledging Conner's humor with a deadpan stare Erik shifted upon his chair, another wave a color washing up his face. "That is absurd…" he said weakly, his outrage apparently deadened by guilt.

Feeling a little shamefaced for only increasing Erik's discomfort rather than decreasing it, Conner let out an oath. "Hell and damnation, Erik! I was only teasing you a bit. You look so serious that I was afraid that terrible expression would get stuck upon your face." Sighing, Conner cleared his throat, putting the silliness aside as true concern for his strange friend took precedence. _He must truly be worried about something for him not to rise to my baiting…he always fires something back at me. _

"I am sorry…" Conner began sincerely as he dragged himself into a proper sitting position, directing his full attention to his gloomy friend. "Go ahead and ask me what you wanted."

Glaring steadily at Conner for several moments, Erik waited until he was certain the redhead was actually serious before continuing. "From our acquaintance together I have been able to conclude that you are a man of the world. Though I am loath to admit it, you are more knowledgeable in several subjects because of your exposure to society. I wish to perhaps glean a bit of that knowledge so I can figure out a few things about your sister."

Blinking blankly at Erik for several seconds, Conner tried to translate the masked man's overly formal speech into some semblance of sense. _Damn he must be nervous about something. He only talks like he has a poker stuck up his ass when he is skirting the issue._ Raising a hand to scratch at his head, Conner felt his headache worsen. "So…what you are saying is that I know more about girls and you want to know some of their feminine secrets in order to try and figure out some of Bri's oddities?"

Clearing his throat, Erik nodded. "I feel like a fool for asking."

"Don't worry about that," Conner said quickly, his fairy green eyes dropping to the floor in thought, his mind automatically turning to Meg and the dance they had shared last night. The moments he had spent with her in his arms had been, quite literally, some of the happiest of his life. _What do I do with that? This isn't an infatuation anymore…_ "I am not sure if I am the best person to ask right now Erik."

"Why, because you are failing with Meg Giry?" Erik asked shrewdly.

Instantly shooting a glare Erik's way, Conner ground his teeth. "Now why would you say that?"

Snorting, Erik sat up straighter in his chair. "Any fool can see it. The way you have been mooning over her."

"Oh! So I suppose I must look just as idiotic as you do whenever you catch sight of Brielle!" Conner shot back, effectively quelling anything else Erik might have been about to say.

"Are you going to help me or not?" Erik finally asked after a tense silence.

"You are the one who got off subject! But ask your question if you are ever going to!" Conner riposted.

"Only if you swear not to breathe a word of this to anyone." Erik demanded, needing his reassurance.

"Fine!"

"Fine!" Sitting back irritably Erik related the story of his most recent interactions with Brielle, his blue eyes narrowed into slits, as if daring Conner to say something snippy in response.

"She kissed you twice in less than twenty-four hours," Conner repeated, his eyebrows shooting nearly up to his hairline, a smile flickering around the edges of his mouth. "Well, what is there to be worried about? Next time kiss her back!"

Hissing out a breath, Erik shook his head. "You are missing the point!"

"And what is the point? She said she loves you…what is the problem?"

"Sometimes you can be infuriatingly thick," Erik snapped.

"Only sometimes? Gosh, thanks, Erik, you are so kind!" Conner said sarcastically.

Jumping to his feet in outrage, Erik raised both hands to run through his hair. "You are maddening! You said yourself that love can mean many things! Surely Brielle was expressing that sentiment. We have only ever been the closest of friends. I feel I can say anything to her. But every time she is near me I begin to forget that. I feel as if I am balancing upon the edge of a precipice and that at any moment I might fall over the edge and into the darkness below." Pacing away across the floor the masked man came to a stop near one wall. "When she is near everything just drops away until the only reality left is what I can see in her eyes," he finished gloomily.

Finding Erik's description suspiciously similar to his own feelings for Meg, Conner shifted uncomfortably. "So you are confused because you are certain her motives are purely friendly in nature, but you find your own thoughts straying along baser lines? Are you serious?"

"I do not want to allow my inexperience to ruin one of the few good things in my life," Erik responded stiffly. "I would rather die than have my actions somehow disrupt our relationship," the masked man said with a conviction Conner found admirable.

"Lord a'mighty, Erik! You don't need my help. You already lo…er…care for Brielle more than yourself." Conner said, automatically correcting himself from saying 'love.' Somehow he just knew that the masked man might not be ready to hear that particular word in reference to his own feelings. "You couldn't ruin your relationship with her…you wouldn't let yourself."

"I only wish I had your confidence," Erik muttered bitterly, banging a rhythmic pattern against the wall with his fist, his gaze never leaving the wall in front of his face.

"Like all things I came by my confidence by extensive practice. Perhaps you should simply practice yours more." Leaning forward to pluck his pillow off the floor where Erik had dropped it, Conner placed it upon the bed beside him. A burning question rose up within his mind as he smoothed a hand over the pillow at his side. Absently scratching at the day-old growth of beard along his jaw, the redhead debated within himself if he should leave the conversation there or voice the dangerous thought now floating about his mind. Never one to back down from a situation, Conner sat up straighter and opened his mouth.

"Have you ever considered that perhaps Brielle's actions may indicate that she considers you more than a friend?" Conner asked slowly, preparing himself for the swift outburst that would surely come from this comment.

Tilting his head to the side, Erik listened to the question in silence. Slowly he brought his head around to stare over his shoulder at Conner, the blue of his eyes shining as cold and sharp as river ice. "In the future I would suggest that you keep such moronic suggestions to yourself," he stated frigidly. "Though I am still acclimating myself to the intimacies that people share on a daily bases I am not a fool. Any delusions I might have once had regarding the opposite sex have long since died."

Holding up a hand Conner smiled weakly, knowing full well that if he continued there would be violence. _Not that I mind a fight…but maybe I should put it off until my head doesn't already feel like it is going to explode._ "Fine…never mind," he conceded grumpily.

Feeling that the subject had been dropped, Erik straightened from the wall and smoothed a hand through his disheveled hair. "Good…but I think it is time that I go," he said finally as he walked over to one corner of the room, running a hand over the wood paneling there. With the flick of his fingers a small door opened up in the wall.

Sitting up straighter Conner stared dumbfounded at the opening. "That is how you got in here? Damn, Erik…you HAVE to show me all your secret passages. That could be incredibly fun information." Shooting a final glare over his shoulder, Erik merely disappeared from view without another word.

Relaxing, Conner dropped his head back to his rumpled pillow. Closing his eyes he tried not to brood over the odd exchange that had just happened, but the effort was futile. _Stupid man…he is so afraid of what will happen that he can't even admit to himself that he loves her or that she obviously loves him. God…does that sound familiar or what?_ Irritated with himself, he put all thoughts from his mind, determined to finally get some rest and sleep off the effects of last night's party.

Just as he was about to drift off the sound of a key hastily being turned in the lock of his door had his eyes popping open again. Staring at the door he watched as Brielle hurried into the door. Her state appeared very similar to the man who had just left, her face was flushed and her movements jerky and uneasy. Sitting up in bed, Conner raised a hand before she could say anything.

"Am I doomed to never find rest again! What do you want?"

Undaunted by her brother's unfriendly greeting, Brielle hurried over to perch upon the edge of the bed. "You are a man, Conner…so you know how men think," she said without preamble.

"Excuse me?"

"I need you to tell me how to let a man know that I am interested in him," she said matter-of-factly. "And I don't have much time. I told Meg a story to get away from her for a few minutes so I could talk to you. But she will come looking for me any minute…"

"Why did you have to escape from her?"

"I didn't know if she would be open to barging in on you while you were sleeping and I didn't want to be rude either. That and my head feels like it is in a vise so I suppose I wasn't thinking to clearly."

"You sure have a talent for overcomplicating things…but to get to the task at hand I take it that the man you are interested is Erik?"

"Of course it is, don't be stupid."

"Well, apparently you don't need any help. Kissing is a great way of showing a man that you are interested," Conner said as he gave up on sleep and got out of bed, staggering over to the wardrobe to pick out some clothes. "Why everyone has decided to ask me for advice today, I will never know!" he griped as he pulled out a clean shirt and vest. Jerking the shirt he had slept in over the top of his head he donned the clean one, sloppily buttoning the vest up as soon as he had put it on.

"Who else has been asking you for advice?" Brielle asked sharply as she watched him from across the room.

"Erik was already here, blast him. He wanted to know why women acted so strangely. Apparently your recent behavior has thrown him for a loop. He hardly knows what to make of it all. He is afraid that he is going to drive you away or some such nonsense!" Conner raved, thoroughly tired of Brielle and Erik's silliness.

His outburst put Brielle in a quiet mood for she didn't say anything else as Conner sat down to pull on a pair of boots. When he finally stood and headed toward the door Brielle jumped to her feet and followed him. "Why…why is he afraid that he would drive me away?"

"You are a beautiful woman and he is not a monk…why do you think?" Conner said with one raised eyebrow as he opened the door.

Rather than being shocked by this bluntly said bit of news, Brielle simply smiled. "Well, that is something at least. A beginning…"

"A beginning to what?"

"Conner…I realized something very shocking recently. I realized that I still love that stupid man….and so I am determined to convince him to feel the same way about me."

Raising a hand to muffle the sudden burst of laughter bubbling up his throat, Conner glanced her way. "Well good luck with that!" he said flippantly as he walked out the door. Brielle followed along after him for several moments quietly, apparently digesting the information that had been revealed to her.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked, sounding a little distant as she blinked at their surroundings, having not paid attention up until this point.

"I am taking you back to you room so you can meet up with Meg," Conner said over his shoulder.

"Oh…" was her only reply as her gaze drifted off to stare thoughtfully at the floor.

Conner increased his pace then, a sudden longing to lose himself in the oblivion of his violin spurring him on. They reached Brielle's room in record time. "Here we are! Home sweet home," Conner said with a dramatic sweep of his arm.

Frowning at the door Brielle smoothed a hand down the front of her dress. "I could have sworn I left that door open…" she said slowly, as she stepped forward and turned the handle.

Putting a staying hand on his sister's shoulder, Conner prevented her from opening the door. "Let me do it..." he said, as he gently pushed Brielle behind him.

"Conner what is the matter with you?" she protested.

Turning towards her he raised a finger to his lips. "Did you ever consider that we have to be more careful now? You can't just barrel into things now that Andrew is the patron. Someone could be in your room…we just need to be careful."

Her eyes widening Brielle willingly stepped behind Conner's broad form, holding onto the back of his vest as he reached forward and took hold of the doorknob. With one swift movement the redhead threw open the door, allowing it to bang against the inner wall with a resounding crack. Taking one step into the room, Conner's eyes instantly flew to the young woman bending in front of the mirror, who, at the sound of the door, turned toward them with a gasp, both her silk-covered hands raised to cover her mouth.

Taken aback by the sight of the well dressed young lady, Conner cleared his throat. "Ummm…hello?"

Feeling her brother's confusion, Brielle poked her head around him to peer over his shoulder. Seeing what she could of the girl Brielle physically bristled, obviously outraged at the sight of a stranger standing amongst her things. Ducking back down she pushed past him into the room. "What are you doing sneaking around my room!" she demanded harshly, her fists going to her hips in her classic battle stance.

As the girl lowered her hands to wring nervously in front of her, Brielle's stiff posture changed subtly. The Irishwoman's fists slid boneless from her hips to hang limply at her sides. The strange girl raised a hand to brush a chocolate-colored curl behind one ear as she stepped forward, an embarrassed smile breaking the tense expression on her pretty face.

"I am so sorry…I didn't realize that someone was using this room…" the girl said slowly, looking around the room as if surprised to see the personal possessions decorating the space. "I mean…I was concentrating so that I didn't notice…" Clearing her throat, the girl attempted a friendly smile. "What is wrong with me? I should introduce myself. I am…"

"Christine…" Brielle breathed raggedly as she turned to shoot a wide-eyed look of pure shock over her shoulder at her brother.

Blinking slightly, Christine stared at Brielle for a moment, trying to puzzle out how she knew her name. "Yes, that's right. I am Christine De Chagny."


	52. An Ever Fixed Mark

**Hey all I am happy to bring you the next chapter. I know I left you with a big cliffhanger last week so hopefully some questions are answered in this one. A huge, huge thank you to my wonderful beta Tersichore314. She got this edited in record time! Yay! **

**Once again thanks for all the wonderful reviews last week. I love some of your comments…you guys never fail to give me a chuckle! So keep them coming!**

**Oh and surprise of all surprises another reader decided to do a fanart piece from chapter 50 of my story. So a big shout out to silvan! She did a really cool job! The coloring is so awesome. And if you would like to check it out too just give me an email…or say so in your reviews. I don't mind sending it along. (But if I forget…just keep bugging me…I am absent minded sometimes…) She also has a site at deviant art if you want to check out some of the other stuff she has done too.**

**http/ silverwing24 .deviantart. com/ (Once again take out the spaces. doesn't like websites for some reason.)**

**But anyway that is all…enjoy!**

Chapter 52: An Ever Fixed Mark

Feeling her hands drop loosely to her sides, Brielle's shoulders sagged as she stared dumbfounded at the pretty girl standing before her. The vicomtesse stepped forward to offer her hand in greeting, but Brielle couldn't find the strength to rouse herself enough to accept the friendly gesture. She felt numbed with shock. Christine shifted slightly when it appeared that the Irishwoman wasn't going to respond, her smile dimming as she lowered her gaze to the floor.

"You are angry, I see," she said, her tone soft and contrite like a small child's, as her expressive dark eyes scanned the floor. "Please forgive me for my intrusion. It was not my intention to offend."

Brielle nodded slightly at that, continuing to stare rudely. She couldn't pull her eyes away from the apparition standing before her. Christine seemed a figment of her imagination, pulled from the very depths of her fears. But even through the shock, Brielle knew deep down that this wasn't a dream, it was far too real. She could see every perfectly placed curl falling about the vicomtesse's face, her hair the rich color of melted chocolate. Unconsciously Brielle raised a shaking hand to her own head, running her fingers over the handkerchief which covered her odd white hair. Christine had a fresh, innocent beauty which was rather unnerving.

One thought broke through the blankness of her mind then, repeating over and over until she was sure she would never think of anything else. _It is her…her…it is her…she is the one who left him down there. It is her. _Without realizing it, Brielle straightened, her back going ramrod straight. "Yes, well, results and intentions are often two very separate things," she snapped cruelly.

Christine jumped slightly at Brielle's harsh tone, raising her shocked gaze up to her rival's face, obviously unaccustomed to such treatment. "What?" she asked a little uncertainly, her lovely wide mouth falling open in question.

The anger descended upon Brielle quickly, stealing her breath away, and leaving her trembling from head to toe. _She left him down there in the dark and the smoke…she left him to die._ Opening her mouth, she took a threatening step forward, not caring at the moment that Christine didn't know who she was or the reason for her blatant hostility. A firm hand clamped around her elbow just then; preventing her from moving forward. Swinging her eyes around, spoiling for a fight, Brielle was slightly surprised to see the warning look in her brother's gaze as he looked down at her. Relaxing slowly in his grip, Brielle felt reason return to her through the fury. _Sweet Mary what was I about to do? I think I might have been about to hit her…_

Sensing that the danger had passed, Conner loosened his grip, turning a charming smile at the anxious woman standing across the room. "No offense taken Madame," he said smoothly, his words bringing the hesitant smile back to Christine's face.

"Oh good," the younger girl said, letting out a pent-up breath.

"Excuse us. I suppose your presence startled us. I am Conner Sinclair, the lead violinist," Conner said, stepping forward to bring Christine's hand briefly to his lips.

Watching the girl color at the old fashioned gesture, Brielle forced herself to be civil. _Obviously she isn't some monster. Cool your head Brielle. You can't just go around attacking people. She doesn't know who you are and you don't know why she is here. _When Christine's soft eyes turned once again to hers, Brielle let out a steadying breath. "I am Brielle Do…Donner. I am an assistant to…"

"CHRISTINE!" a shrilly excited voice squealed from the hallway, cutting Brielle off in mid-sentence. Meg ran into the room then, pushing past Conner in her rush to get to her old friend. Throwing her arms around Christine, Meg laughed out loud. "I can't believe it is you!"

At the sight of the blonde dancer, Christine's face lit up with a brilliant smile, her expression coming truly alive for the first time. "Meg! I am so glad to see you! It has been so long!"

Pulling back from her friend, the smile on Meg's face dimmed as a questioning frown wrinkled her brow. "What are you doing here? It has been a whole year…Why didn't you write to say you were coming?"

Christine's eyes darted to Conner and Brielle briefly before settling back on Meg. "Can we talk about this in private?" she asked quietly from behind a raised hand, obviously not wanting the other occupants of the room to hear.

Turning to look over her shoulder, Meg looked at Conner and Brielle as if just noticing that they were there. Letting out a funny half laugh, the blonde turned back to the vicomtesse, taking the other girl's hands between her own. "Oh, that is just Brielle and Conner. Um…Monsieur Sinclair is…er…trustworthy and Brielle is my best fr…um…she is my very good friend," Meg said, modifying what she was going to say in front of the girl who had formerly been her closest companion. "You don't have to worry about them."

"Your very…good friend?" Christine asked slowly, as she narrowed her eyes slightly at Brielle, a quick flicker of jealousy marring her expression for the briefest of moments. The darker emotion did not sit well upon the former singer's face, but it quickly passed away, leaving in its wake a wounded sort of sadness. "Yes, well, I have been gone a very long time…" she said to herself. "If it is all the same to you, Meg, I really don't want too many people to know that I am here."

Trying to remain levelheaded, Brielle crossed her arms over her chest as she listened to Meg and Christine talk. The young vicomtesse glanced over at her then with an expectant look upon her face. It took Brielle several moments to figure out that the girl actually expected her to leave and allow them to talk. Disbelief had her eyebrows soaring up toward her hairline, until she noticed that behind the waiting smile there was no apparent malice lurking. Raising her chin slightly, the Irishwoman peered at the younger girl a little more closely. Even upon closer inspection, Brielle couldn't find a hint of ill will coming from the dark haired girl. _She really is expecting that I would leave my own room for her and Meg to have privacy. And she doesn't even realize how rude that is…What a strange girl. _

Stirring herself, Brielle sighed and relaxed the frown upon her face, managing to paste a neutral half-formed smile across her mouth. _She has a sort of wounded bird air about her…like she suffered some terrible blow and has never recovered…like…like she needs someone to take care of her. No wonder Erik was drawn to her._ A niggling ounce of pity worked its way into her heart as she broke eye contact and walked over to the door. Christine nodded and turned back toward Meg, opening her mouth to continue the conversation.

Stopping in the doorway, Brielle pushed the door open a little further and leaned her back against the doorframe. "It was nice to have met you, Madame De Chagny. You and Meg obviously have a great deal of catching up to do. So I will let you two go," she said with a smile and a polite gesture out the door.

Christine blinked for a moment before turning to Meg in question, obviously not expecting to be asked to leave. Without noticing this exchange, Meg took Christine's hand and led her out the door. "I will see you later, Brielle," Meg said as she passed the Irishwoman. Looking toward Conner for the first time since she had come in the room, the blonde smiled shyly. "Bye, Monsieur Sinclair."

"Lord, lass, you are killing me with that Monsieur Sinclair bit. It's Conner…you know that," Conner replied, a slow smile spreading across his face as he watched the blush work its way into Meg's cheeks.

Meg merely smiled and ducked her head, pulling upon Christine's hand as she made a hasty retreat. Watching the pair hurry down the hallway, Meg dragging Christine along behind her, Brielle and Conner were quiet for several moments. Turning to look at each other at the same moment, Brielle raised her eyebrow toward her brother.

"So it is Conner, is it?" she asked with a wink.

Rolling his eyes, Conner walked out the doorway. "Yeah, what of it?" he asked a little defensively. "But, more importantly, what is it about Madame De Chagny that made you look like you had seen a ghost? And was it my imagination or did you have your claws out and ready to scratch that girl's eyes out?"

Her smile disappearing, Brielle followed him out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. His words brought back the enormity of her current situation, reminding Brielle that though Christine was not the monster that she had thought she was, the girl's presence could still create a great deal of trouble. _Gah! Why did she have to come around now! Just when I finally realized what I need to do. This might upset everything! I have to find out why she came back…_Groaning heavily, she leaned against the door and knocked her head once against the cool wood panel.

"Hell and damnation!" she cursed, as she pulled away from the doorway. Pursing her lips into a thin line, she looked off over her shoulder down the hall. _I have to find out why she is here._ Picking up her skirts, Brielle took off down the hallway, her eyes wide and on the lookout for her new quarry. Conner let out a surprised shout after her, but she didn't stop. A few moments later Brielle heard her brother's heavy footsteps coming up behind her.

"What are you doing?" he asked, as he trotted along beside her.

"I am going to go and spy on the Vicomtesse De Chagny," Brielle stated determinedly.

"Why? I mean, I know she is a new arrival, but she didn't seem to be all that interesting." Slowing his pace slightly, Conner wrinkled his brow in thought. "Actually now that I think about it…she was sort of odd, don't you think? Had a far-off look to her eyes, like she is walking in a cloud or something."

Casting a glance towards her brother, Brielle only quickened her steps. "I suppose I should tell you. You know that Erik used to live here, but I haven't told you the whole story. He wasn't a consultant to the managers. He was…er…rather…"

Matching Brielle step for step, Conner turned his head to look over at her, a devilish smile spreading across his face. "What, that he was the Phantom?"

Stumbling to a stop, Brielle gaped at Conner. "What? How did you know? I never told you anything about it!"

"Oh, come on. I may not be as smart as you, but I am not stupid. People like to tell stories here. As soon as I heard that there used to be a masked man who ran amuck around the theater, I knew that it was Erik."

"You knew and you didn't say anything! The stories they tell are horrible…if you believed them, weren't you worried!"

Letting out a laugh, Conner reached forward and mussed up the navy handkerchief covering Brielle's hair. "Come on, Bri! I know Erik. I watched him…the way he was with you and Aria. A man who acts like he does isn't some sort of monster. I just figured the stories got some parts wrong. I mean you didn't believe all that foolishness, did you? Why would I?"

Opening her mouth to reply, Brielle quickly shut it again, a wave of shame stopping the words in her throat. _Geeze…Conner had more faith than I did!_ Trying to shake off the annoyance that came right on the heels of the guilt, Brielle started walking again. "Well, some of the stories are true. Christine De Chagny used to be called Christine Daae."

"Wait a second! Do you mean that girl that supposedly was kidnapped last year!"

"Yes. That is her. But what they don't tell in their stories is that Madame De Chagny was Erik's first blessed love! And now she is back for some unknown reason! I plan on finding out why she is here!"

Raising both hands to adjust her askew hair covering, Brielle peeked around a corner, and just down the hallway, tucked away in a cozy little enclave, sat Meg and Christine. Backing away from the corner, Brielle turned and raced up a nearby set of stairs. Tiptoeing along the upper floor, she came to the spot directly above the two younger girls. Sitting down upon the wooden floor, Brielle tilted her head out over the balcony so that she could hear the conversation below. A moment later Conner joined her. Two hushed feminine voices rose up to the siblings from the lower floor. Reaching across the short distance between them, Brielle grabbed hold of her brother's hand as she frowned with concentration, trying to make out what was being said.

"Oh, it was a beautiful ceremony," Christine said dreamily. "There were flowers everywhere, which I found a grand surprise, considering it was in the middle of winter. I was a little disappointed that Raoul's brother and sisters could not make it to the wedding. But since it was so last minute it is easy to see why they couldn't come."

A small silence fell between the old friends before Meg piped up. "It sounds wonderful…" she said slowly, obviously wanting to skip the small talk and ask something else. "Are you happy, then? The letters you sent never really said much."

"Oh yes, I am very happy!" Christine said enthusiastically.

"So do you sing in London as well? Tell me, what is the opera house like?"

From up above Conner and Brielle watched Christine bow her head slightly. "Oh no. I don't sing anymore," she murmured. "It isn't entirely proper for a vicomte's wife to work for a living or to perform on stage."

Leaning forward, Meg took Christine's hands. "Well, that is silly…you have the most wonderful voice. How could they not wish for you to sing?"

"Oh no…it isn't that I am not allowed to sing," Christine put in, quick to defend her husband and his family. "I just don't want to purposely do something to make them uncomfortable. That and…well…since last year I would feel strange singing alone. I have never done it before."

"What are you talking about? You did plenty of solos last year."

There was a weighted silence following Meg's statement before Christine shook her head slowly. "That is not what I meant, Meg."

"Oh…I see," Meg replied softly. "Christine…why have you come back? And why don't you want too many people to know you are here?"

The young vicomtesse let out a deep sigh and stood, pacing in a full circle around the chairs they were sitting in, she came to a stop directly in front of Meg, a feverish sort of energy permeating her every movement. "You swear you will not tell anyone?" she asked desperately, needing the reassurance.

"Christine, we were once the best of friends…of course I won't tell anyone!"

"Not even those two people I met before?" Christine continued uneasily. "The man was nice enough…but that woman, she made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I have never seen eyes like hers before, the color of a coming storm and just as dangerous. They remind me of someone else…the dangerous eyes." She trailed off then, turning back to Meg only after several moments of being lost in her own thoughts.

"Brielle is a good person…she wouldn't hurt anyone," Meg said carefully, as if she were trying to quiet a child's unreasonable fears. "But I won't tell either of them, if that is what you want."

Pacing away from her friend once again, Christine smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. "I came back for my teacher, Meg," she finally said, her tone lowering dramatically as she turned and waited for Meg's reaction.

Up above Brielle let out a gasp before she could stop herself, and clamping both hands over her mouth she cast a quick glance toward her brother. He raised a finger to his lips and turned his attention back to the conversation below in time to see Meg jump to her feet.

"Christine, surely you know that he is most likely dead! I mean people still like to blame his memory for all the little accidents that happen around here…but he IS dead. No one has seen anything of him since that night. He died the night the chandelier fell."

As Meg spoke, Christine slowly sank back down into a nearby chair, raising both hands up to cover her face. "Yes, I know he is dead. I came back to bury the poor man. For months I have dreamed of him lying down there in the dark…it has haunted my every sleeping moment. I thought that perhaps if I gave him a funeral…that it would finally put an end to the story of the Phantom. Will you help me, Meg? Help me to find him? I was trying to remember how the mechanism of the mirror worked when Monsieur Sinclair and Madame Donner came into the room."

"Christine…you don't even know where to look. The Opera's cellars are vast. In this past year no one has found a body…maybe we never will."

Dropping her hands from her face to slap against her knees, Christine looked up at Meg with a wide-eyed expression of utter betrayal. "We have to find him, Meg! I have to or I will go mad! I left him down there…I have to lay him to rest! And if you don't help me I just don't know what I will do!" Christine shouted, a touch of hysteria entering into her tone.

Raising both hands in a calming gesture, Meg only nodded. "All right…all right." Her agreement seemed to calm Christine somewhat, but it did not serve to completely destroy the tension now floating through the air. "Um, Christine…why have you come alone? Why isn't Raoul here?"

Seemingly tired out by her emotional display earlier, Christine merely let out a sigh. "Oh, I didn't tell him I was coming," she said with the wave of her hand, dismissing the subject as not very important.

"You didn't tell your husband where you were going!" Meg sputtered in disbelief.

"Oh, he would never have let me come had he known!" Christine gushed hurriedly, trying to allay her friend's obvious distress. "But I did leave him a note saying that I was going to Paris…so he wouldn't worry."

"Christine, I fear you have acted in a hasty manner…" Meg said with a shake of her head. Kneeling down in front of the young vicomtesse, she took hold of Christine's hands. "Didn't you think how this would hurt Raoul? He must be worried sick for your safety. You just never think!"

Christine blinked at Meg for a moment before squeezing her friend's hands in her own. "Oh, surely he will come to understand," she said with a vague certainty. Then sitting forward, her attitude changing to that of girlish good humor, Christine raised Meg's hands to her lips with a smile, setting aside the seriousness of current conversation as easily as she would set an unwanted book upon a table. "But you must tell me more about yourself. Here I have been rattling on and I know nothing of your fortunes. Have you made it to lead ballerina yet? Oh, surely you must have!"

One floor above the talking pair, Brielle and Conner glanced each other's way. Grabbing hold of her brother's arm, Brielle turned to whisper in his ear. "She cannot be allowed to wander about the cellars. What would she do when she found out he isn't dead? I have a feeling she is a little…excitable."

"I haven't the foggiest idea, but I am beginning to think that it wouldn't be good…for any of the parties involved," Pushing back from the edge, Conner sat up straight, rubbing one hand along the back of his neck. "I am sure Meg won't let her wander down there by herself…she is too smart for that." Leaning forward to tug upon Brielle's skirt, the redhead managed to flash his usual optimistic smile. "You aren't too worried about this, are you? It will all work out. Erik will just have to keep out of her way."

Still staring down over the edge at the top of Christine's head, Brielle felt all the blood draining away from her face, leaving her feeling lightheaded and empty. "I am not sure he will want to stay away…" she whispered through numb lips, the horrifying realization that her hopes for her future might have been in vain. That perhaps Erik was never hers to win in the first place. "I cannot tell him…he cannot know…"

Frowning Conner moved to stand, and leaning down he offered his hand to Brielle, and after a moment she took it. Taking hold of both his sister's shoulders, Conner looked her right in the eye. "You cannot keep this from him. You know that…"

Turning her head to gaze off toward the railings, and the soft feminine voices drifting up from below, Brielle let out a breath and nodded her head. "Yes…I know that. I know…but how am I to tell him?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later that same day Brielle moved quietly through the corridors of the Opera, fancying that she felt very much as a ghost might: seeing the people around her but knowing that at the moment she was not a part of their world. She felt as if she walked within a bubble, separate from the whisperings of Madame De Chagny's mysterious arrival, and was glad for the numbing gulf. Christine's bid for secrecy had failed, and by lunch time the entire cleaning staff, if not the performers, knew of her presence.

Twice more since their first disastrous meeting, Brielle had caught the young vicomtesse lurking about her room, no doubt wishing entrance once again to try her hand at the mirror. Brielle now made it a point to lock her door every time she left her room, wanting to buy enough time to tell Erik of Christine's presence. Hours had passed as the Irishwoman went about her daily activities, entertaining Aria and speaking briefly with Carlotta, her mind all that time constantly in motion as she tried to figure out the best way to reveal her news to Erik. It was now late in the evening, around nine o'clock, and still no illumination had come upon her.

Left alone to her own devices, since Madame Giry had stolen Aria away once again, Brielle had stewed within her room, staring at her own reflection in the giant mirror. _She must have looked into this mirror as I am…_Somehow the thought had sent shivers running down her spine. Unable to stand the confines of her room any longer, Brielle had wandered out into the halls. She had halfheartedly strolled to the library, picking up a book of Shakespearean poems and a written version of Faust. Finding the one other occupant of the library to be one too many, she had quickly vacated the room.

Walking now down one of the many nameless hallways, she patted her pockets to make sure the books were still there. _How should I tell him?_ she asked herself for the thousandth time that day. Raising a hand to her pinch the bridge of her nose, she stopped walking for a moment. _God, all this thinking is going nowhere. Come on, Bri! You have two books…go read somewhere and stop thinking about it for one moment._

Starting to walk again she took an impulsive right turn, finding herself moving to the far back of the theater. After several minutes she came to a door blocking her path, and reaching out, she pulled the door open without thinking about where she was going. The smell of horses and hay instantly hit her senses as she stepped through the doorway. Blinking, Brielle raised her eyes from the floor and found herself in the Opera's stables.

Stopping in her tracks, the Irishwoman looked about her surroundings with interest. The long room appeared deserted except for the horses dozing in their stalls. _The night shift stable boys must be having their breakfast right about now. _Several of the big animals raised their heads to peer over their stall doors at her as her skirts rustled against the straw upon the floor. Smiling slightly, Brielle closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. "Ah, that smell. Reminds me of my barn back home."

Feeling herself relax for the first time that day, Brielle opened her eyes and walked over to the first stall, where a large sleepy-eyed bay stood watching her. Reaching out a hand Brielle scratched the animal on the top of his head. "There now, good boy." Chuckling when the big bay leaned his head against her hand, she gave him a pat and stepped away.

Wiping her hands against her skirts, she turned about in a circle. "Well, I suppose this place is just about as good as any other to read in."

Walking down the row of stalls, she paused at each one to give its occupant a quick pat before moving on. Picking up a lantern that was hanging on the wall, she found a large pile of fresh hay in one corner of the stables. Snagging a nearby bucket she flipped it over and set the lantern on top of it before plopping down in the hay. _Ah, this reminds me of when I was younger…playing in the barn on a sunny afternoon...or the day Erik walked in on me milking the cow…I think that was Aria's birthday. _Leaning back she reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the books she had been carrying.

Her mind clearing of its problems, she opened the thin volume in her hands and settled in to read, loving the prickly feel of the hay at her back. "'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day…'" she began out loud, her eyes scanning over the famous words with a smile gracing her lips. Rather than reminding her of her own love problems, the words served to ease the remaining knot in her stomach.

After some time had passed, she heard through her concentration a pair of approaching footsteps. Lowering her book, she cocked her head to the side, listening to the slap of heels against the stone floor as the person made a quick circuit of the stables. When the footsteps stopped halfway to her hiding place, she boosted herself out of the pile of hay and crept to the corner of the nearest stall, curiosity driving her to discover who else had ventured to the same lonely spot. Peeking about the edge of the stall, Brielle caught sight of a familiar figure of a man highlighted in the flickering lanterns. _Erik…blast! _Ducking back around the corner of the stall, she flattened herself against the wooden rails behind her, hoping that he hadn't heard her. As her eyes darted unseeingly across the floor, she felt her heart begin to pound within her chest. _Perhaps if I just wait he will go away and…Sweet Mary, Brielle! When did you become such a coward? You have to tell him eventually._

Biting her lip, the Irishwoman pushed away from the stall behind her and stood, hastily brushing at the bits of hay and straw which still clung to her skirts. _Why is it every other time I see him I am covered head to toe in dirt? Just once I would actually like to look nice…_Braving another quick glance around the corner, Brielle frowned when she saw that Erik was no longer where he had been. Stepping out into the main corridor between the stalls she cast a glance all about her, searching for where he might have gone.

The sound of gentle humming suddenly issued from inside the very stall the masked man had been standing in front of. Smiling in triumph, Brielle quietly walked down the hall to stand directly outside of the stall where the pleasant sounds were coming from. Leaning against the chest-high door she saw that Erik was squatting down with his back to her near the stall's occupant's back legs. The shaggy quarter horse was standing perfectly relaxed as Erik carefully pulled a tin out of his pocket. Opening the canister Erik removed a small amount of a slightly yellowish salve and began spreading it over the horse's left ankle.

"I didn't know you were an animal doctor in your free time, sir. What are you doing to that poor animal?" she asked, for the moment forgetting to be nervous.

Starting, Erik dropped the small tin in his hands and nearly toppled to the side, his sudden movement causing the horse to swing its head around to glare at him. Turning hastily, the masked man stared up at her for a moment before relaxing his stance. Bending down, he retrieved his lost canister and then stood. For a moment he remained where he was, watching her cautiously as he twirled the tin about in his hands. Then after letting out a breath, the tension visibly eased out of his posture, and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his bare hands.

"Was it your aim to nearly have me trampled to death or were you simply unaware of the danger?" he asked, trying to sound severe, though a smile glittered just behind his frown as he came to stand on the other side of the stall's door. "He has arthritis I was merely applying a soothing salve to help his joints."

Brielle felt a smile tug the corners of her mouth upward as she looked up at him. Something about the sight of him humming to the big animal as he nursed it to health was very endearing. "Did I scare you then?"

"Absolutely not, I knew you were there the whole time," he replied quickly, a touch of his usual arrogance making its way into his tone.

Reaching out, she gave him a poke in the ribs, the familiar ebb and flow of their banter causing her to put aside her misgivings, if only for a moment. "Just admit it. I scared the breath right out of you. Serves you right too for always sneaking up on me."

His sober façade dropped away then as his face broke out into a slow, adorable grin. "I suppose I am losing my touch. There was a time when no one would have been able to get the better of me. I even searched the place first…where were you hiding that I didn't see you?"

Pointing over her shoulder, Brielle indicated the pile of hay. "I was reading on the other side of that pile."

"Ah, that explains all of these little bits that are all over you," he said as he reached out and deftly plucked a piece of hay from her shoulder.

Though the contact lasted only a moment, Brielle felt the warmth of his fingers through her dress like a brand to her skin. Sucking in a breath at his touch, Brielle dug her fingers into the wood of the stall door in order to stay upright. Erik froze midway through tossing the bit of hay away, obviously picking up on the sudden crackling tension in the atmosphere. A subtle change drifted across his face as he dropped his hand to the door next to hers. The blue of his eyes retreated, turning almost black as his pupils dilated, his gaze locking with hers.

A slight dent appeared between his brows as his stare wavered and then fell away. He stood perfectly still, staring off to the side, as he seemed to be battling some inner conflict. After a moment he relaxed and brought his eyes back up to hers, a bland but friendly smile upon his face.

"What were you reading?" he asked, steering the conversation back to a safe subject.

Her heart sank as she watched the exciting, dangerous gleam in his eyes fade. Clenching her fists, Brielle pushed away from the stall, allowing him enough room to open the door and step out. "I brought two books with me," she said, trying to match his light tone as she turned and walked back to the pile of hay where she had left the two books behind. "I was reading a little bit of Shakespeare before I heard you come in but I also brought a written version of Faust. I figured I should read up on the story since that is the opera everyone has been practicing."

"You mean you don't already know the story?" Erik asked in disbelief as he came around to stand alongside her.

"No," Brielle replied as she dropped back down into the hay and picked up both her books. "I was never all that interested in literature when I was younger."

"Yes, I know. Always the keen scientist…reading dry volumes of anatomy, no doubt. I cannot believe you don't know Faust…it is one of my favorite stories…my favorite opera by far," he said as he remained standing, his voice animated but his eyes wary as he watched her from a distance.

"Is it?" she murmured as she turned the book over in her hands, feeling a tingle of satisfaction in knowing one more intimate detail of his life. _His favorite…_ Turning her eyes back up to where he stood, Brielle flashed a smile and patted the spot next to her. "Then come and sit next to me and tell me why," she said cheerfully, not wanting him to shy away from her again.

"I am fine standing…"

Tapping her finger against the binding of the book in irritation, Brielle changed tactics. "Well, if you don't want to tell me, you should just say so."

"No, that isn't what I meant."

"No, that is fine…I am not the gossiping type. Keep it to yourself then."

"Brielle, I didn't say that I wouldn't…"

"I will just read it for myself. Though I have to admit it does seem rather dull…" she said airily as she opened the book and peered at the words inside, wrinkling her nose slightly after reading the first few lines.

Cursing under his breath, Erik stalked over and dropped down into the hay beside her grouchily. Snatching the book from her hands he closed it with a snap. "Of all the words I would use to describe this particular work it most certainly would not be dull," he snapped.

"Really?" Brielle asked innocently, all smiles now that she had succeeded in getting him mad enough to forget to be cautious.

Opening his mouth to reply, Erik shut it again with a click when he caught sight of her sunny attitude. Looking down at himself, sitting as she had asked him to, the masked man threw his head back against the pile of hay and let out another curse. "Damn it, Brielle! You are the most cunning woman I have ever come across. How is it you can con me into doing whatever you ask?"

"It is just because I know you so well," she said with a laugh. "Now are you going to tell me why Faust is your favorite or not? It would really save me some time to have you tell it."

Glaring at her from where he sat with his arms crossed, Erik tried to hold onto his irritation, but her prodding proved to be too much for his resolve. Sighing, he raised a hand to scratch along his jaw. "It is a story of redemption…I suppose that has always appealed to me. In the story there is a woman who falls from grace and does unspeakable things…but in the end she is still forgiven and taken to heaven."

"I see why you like it then…" she said, as she reached over to gently squeeze his upper arm. As if on reflex, Erik moved to take her hand in his, their fingers fitting together as if they were made to do so, palm to palm. When he realized what he had done, the masked man stared at his hand as if it were a being separate from himself, shocked that he had forgotten to keep a respectable distance.

Wanting to postpone the inevitable withdrawal, Brielle only tightened her grip. She liked the feel of his bare skin against hers; this was the first time he had been without his gloves in a long time. "Perhaps when they finally perform Faust we can watch it together."

Looking up from their clasped hands, he blinked at her statement then smiled, seemingly distracted by their physical contact. "Yes, that would be nice. I know the perfect spot to watch from too."

Nodding, Brielle turned and plucked her book of Shakespeare out of the straw next to her. "Have you read much Shakespeare in our time here, Erik?" she asked conversationally, trying to keep him talking and not over-thinking things.

"I find some of his work tolerable, but most of it is romantic drivel," he replied slowly, his eyes once again dropping to stare at her small hand within his.

"What a shocking thing to say!" she teased. "Out of all people, I would have thought you would like his work."

"Why me of all people?"

"Because you are the biggest hopeless romantic I have ever met," she said as she turned a page, a smile tugging at her lips as she felt the man next to her puff up in dibelief.

Outrage had his mouth dropping open instantly. "I am not!" he exclaimed with a dramatic gesture with his free hand.

"You are," she replied without looking up.

"What nonsense!" he huffed, plucking at the hay at his side until he had stirred up a small cloud of dust.

"No it isn't…I have heard some of the music you have written, back when you would play to help put Aria to bed. In all my life I have never heard a more heart-stopping romantic piece. I swear listening to you play sometimes made my knees to straight to water," she breathed, the mere memory of his music causing the butterflies to flying about her insides.

He gaped at her for a moment, his gaze drifting down to stare at her mouth before jerking back up to her eyes; an unnamable, almost calculating emotion slowly becoming clearly evident in his eyes. Her words had him seriously considering something and Brielle couldn't help but wishing she knew what it was.

"Really?...I had no idea…" he said hesitantly, disbelief quickly overpowering everything else.

Shaking his head he cleared his throat and grumbling to himself, he waved off her statement. "Think as you like then. But you cannot tell me that Shakespeare writes about anything other than foolish people mooning over each other. Don't you think it gets kind of redundant? 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' How infantile."

Frowning openly, Brielle flipped through a few more pages of her book. "You are too harsh," Stopping at a particular spot she laid the book against her knees. "I defy you to laugh at this one… 'Love is not love which alters when alteration finds, or bends with the removed to remove. Oh no, it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.'" Closing the small volume with a triumphant snap, she looked up at Erik to see his reaction.

"This one is my favorite. I love the last line the best. 'It is an ever fixed mark…' How beautiful to think of love that way. That is the way it should be." Tilting her head back slightly so that it rested against the hay she turned her face so that her cheek just barely brushed his shoulder. "Ever fixed…no matter what."

A slight tremor began to circulate through his body then, she felt his shoulders trembling against her cheek. When she raised her eyes up to his face she found him watching her very intently, the full force of his attention fixed directly upon her face, her every word. It was a little disconcerting to have such fiercely beautiful eyes studying her so. It made her mind go completely blank as she held his burning gaze, and for a second she thought he might reach out with his free hand to touch her. But she could see the conflict ensue within his expression and after another moment Erik blinked and smiled weakly, his blasted and never ending control taking over once again. "No, I don't suppose I can laugh at that one."

They lapsed into an edgy silence then, each one turning to their own thoughts. It did not take Brielle long to remember one of the main reasons she needed to talk to Erik that day. _I shouldn't put it off any longer. Though I really wish I could..._ The Irishwoman shifted a little uncomfortably as the thought turned her insides to lead. Sensing her unrest, Erik squeezed her hand and looked over at her in question. Knowing that the time had come, but dreading it nonetheless, Brielle bit her bottom lip.

"Erik…I have something very important to tell you…" she began feebly.

"Hmm? What is it?" he asked, sitting up a little straighter at the tone in her voice, an annoyingly distant smile pasted across his face.

"Erik, I don't know how to say this because I am afraid it will upset you," she muttered, narrowing her eyes slightly at his purposefully aloof expression. _Why is he doing that?...Pulling back all the time…he didn't used to…I am already nervous enough having to tell him about Christine…blast him for making it worse._

"Well then, just say it and get it over with. I doubt whatever it is will actually upset me," he said soothingly.

_Yeah right…_Sighing heavily, Brielle reached over and patted their clasped hands. "I saw someone today that…" Stopping there, Brielle cleared her throat, trying to gather her courage. Every time she looked at Erik her bravery seemed to desert her. Looking away from him she squeezed her eyes shut.

"I saw Christine today…" she said hurriedly, her words rushing together in her haste to get them out. Opening her eyes, she cast a glance Erik's way, only to find that he was still looking at her quizzically with no sign of the shock she had expected.

"Who?" he asked slowly as confused smile flickered across his face.

"Christine…Christine…" she continued meaningfully. "As in former lead singer of the Opera Populaire."

His smile quickly dimming, the masked man tensed in the hay next to her. "What?" he breathed shakily, a brittleness she had never seen before expanding within his gaze. "No…that isn't right…you are mistaken."

"I am not mistaken." Lowering her tone, Brielle felt panic begin to bubble up within her. "I saw her in my room today. She was trying to figure out how to open the mirror. She said she has come back to bury you, Erik…she thinks you are dead…"

As she spoke, Erik pulled his hand away from hers, cradling it against his chest as if her touch had done him some injury. An edgy, unsteadiness had his mouth tightening into a thin line. "Yes, she would think I was dead…she left me there to die after all," he bit out bitterly, a silent fury quickly building up behind his eyes. An anger so great that it shone like madness in his over wide gaze.

"I have tried to keep her away from the mirror…so that I could tell you she was here. I think that might be the only way she knows how to get into the cellars."

As if he hadn't completely heard her, Erik climbed to his feet, both hands trembling at his sides. "She is here…she is here…" he whispered over and over, the depth of agony contorting his face like nothing Brielle had ever seen.

Scrambling to her feet, Brielle followed him as he began to wander between the stalls. "Erik…Conner and I figured out that you only have to stay away from her. She need not ever know that…"

Spinning on his heel, Erik rounded on Brielle, his eyes sharp as broken river ice. Raising a hand, he stabbed a finger toward her, his movements demonstrating a barely controlled violence. "Conner knew about this before I did? Conner!" he shouted, the volume of his voice rising to dangerous levels.

Falling back a step, Brielle could only nod in the face of his fury. "He was standing there…when…"

Raising both hands up to tear at his hair, the masked man spun away from her, fully in the grip of a black, uncontrollable temper. The horses in the stalls closest to them began to whinny anxiously at the ungodly noises now issuing from Erik's throat. A howl built up in the back of his throat, sounding closer to something a wild animal might make rather than a man. "Let her come then…" he growled.

"Do you really think that is…"

Snapping his head around to glare at her, a sneer curled Erik's lips back from his teeth, giving him a wild, vicious look. "Stop telling me what to do…" he barked. "For the love of God, just leave me the hell alone!"

Wincing at the fury in his words, Brielle raised a hand to press against the pain she felt around her heart. The lead in her stomach solidified, making her feel physically ill. "Erik…don't say that…Conner and I can help, we…"

"Shut up! Shut up! Or by God I will…"

"You will what?" Brielle challenged slowly, the pain digging a hole in her chest shifting slightly then, turning to anger. Embracing the cleansing heat of her temper, Brielle allowed the anger to take hold. It felt better than the hurt, it felt righteous. Stalking past where the masked man stood fuming, she waved a hand over her shoulder, making a beeline for the door.

The curses behind her stopped as Erik turned to watch her go. "Wait…where are you going!" he shouted, the sharpness in his tone fading slightly.

"When you can conduct yourself like a gentleman then I will listen to you. Until then you had better steer clear of me, or you will get a tanning like nothing you have had in your life!" she called without looking back.

"What? No wait…I didn't mean to…"

Picking up her pace, she hardened herself against the new pleading note which had entered his voice. "I will not be shrieked at! I will not be treated like your personal whipping boy!" Before Erik had the chance to say anything else, before he could apologize, Brielle broke out into a run, leaving him to his own devices. _Don't look back…don't look back…God knows I love him but I cannot condone such behavior…I cannot show him how much he scares me when he is like that. _Pounding down the endless hallways that made up the backstage area of the Opera, Brielle raced her own galloping heart.

Passing several groups of people, she didn't even see Meg and Christine or Madame Giry and Aria until after she had passed them. Meg called out after her, but she couldn't bring herself to stop and explain her odd behavior as she continued to run at a breakneck speed. Finally throwing herself against the door to her room, she fumbled to stick the key into the lock. Pulling the door open, she stumbled inside and sat down upon her bed. _It is over…what if it is over? Maybe the death card I drew wasn't for Carlotta…what if the ending was for me?_

The horrifying reality of that thought had her covering her face in despair. _Please…please….don't let it be over. _Unbidden the words she had read to Erik only half an hour earlier floated up within her mind, taunting her with their upbeat certainty. _Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds…or bends with the removed to remove…no it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken…_Turning to bury her face in her pillow she silently shook her head.

"If only things were so certain in real life," she breathed. "An ever fixed mark…please…please…"


	53. From the Mouths of Babes

**Hey all! Here is the next chapter for you! Thanks to all of you who sent reviews last week! I loved them all! And shame on all of you lurkers! (Aka those who have never ever reviewed!) A huge thanks to Terpsichore314 my genius editor. She did another top notch job on this chapter. **

**P.S. I noticed that I have been writing this story for little over a year now. WOW! That is crazy huh? But don't worry I am not getting tired of it yet! **

Chapter 53: From the Mouths of Babes

"And did you know that I was a dancer when I was very young?" Madame Giry asked, with the tiniest hint of a smile pulling at her stern mouth as she led Aria slowly down the hallway. At the question Aria tilted her head up to grin at the dance mistress.

Nodding her head 'yes,' the child stuck a thumb into her mouth, waving her other hand in the air until the auburn haired woman took it. "J-Just like M-Meg," she mumbled around her thumb. "Except t-that the dance t-teacher then was r-really mean. M-Made girls s-stand on their toes until they fell o-over."

Taken aback slightly at the strangely accurate information, Madame Giry stared at the little girl as the child swung their clasped hands back and forth playfully. "How did you know that, child?"

Removing her thumb from her mouth with a wet popping sound, Aria turned her beguiling set of gray eyes up to Madame Giry's face. "I h-have f-fairy blood and sooo does M-Momma," she sang.

Furrowing her brow, Madame Giry simply shook her head. "My, what an imagination!" she exclaimed, making a soft clucking sound in the back of her throat. _Still…how did she know that about old mean Madame Gordan?_ "But I think it is time I returned you to your room. It is already after nine and a child your age should have plenty of sleep. That, and I think I have stolen you away from your mother long enough."

Laughing, Aria turned and wrapped her free arm around Madame Giry's leg. "I'm n-not s-sleepy!" she squealed. "T-Tell me another s-story!"

Letting out a puff of breath, which was the closest she came to openly laughing, Madame Giry pried Aria's hands from around her legs. "No, absolutely not."

"It is all right! M-Momma is b-busy talking n-now!"

"Talking to whom, child?" she asked absently. Then, looking off down the hall, Madame Giry raised her eyebrows as she watched her daughter and Christine Daae, of all people, stroll around the corner. Blinking in shock, the dance mistress stopped walking, and Aria bumped into the back of her knees. Peeping around Madame Giry's skirts, Aria followed her gaze, spotting the approaching pair with interest.

Pointing a chubby finger at the two young women, Aria turned to look up at Madame Giry. "Who is t-that?"

"Someone I never thought I would see again…" Madame Giry whispered to herself. _What is she doing here? If the girl had any brains she would have never come back…_ Slowly a frown worked its way across Madame Giry's face, her expression turning sour in a moment's breath.

Starting forward, with Aria trailing behind her, she stalked toward Meg and Christine. Before she could make it three steps, the ball of her foot came down with a crunch on an object on the floor. Distracted for the moment, the dance mistress looked down. Raising her foot, she glared down at the floor boards and the small golden object lying there.

"What in the world," she muttered as she bent and plucked the object off the floor. Straightening, she opened her hand to see what it was that she had stepped on. A small gold tiepin lay unassumingly in her open palm, the elegant initial E carved into the face. All the blood quickly drained out of Madame Giry's face as she stared disbelievingly at the familiar object. _This…I know this…it shouldn't be here. This was…it was Erik's._

Jumping up on her tiptoes to see what Madame Giry held, Aria peered at the pin curiously. "Why is t-that on the f-floor?" she asked.

"I don't know. It shouldn't be here. It couldn't have lain there for a year…it…couldn't have," the usually composed woman sputtered. _He is dead…he died…didn't he?_ Her head snapped up sharply as the sound of pounding footsteps thundered down the hallway. Watching as Brielle ran like a madwoman past them, apparently without noticing they were there, Madame Giry closed her fist around the pin.

"What is going on!"

Aria let out a long suffering sigh next to her as the child watched her mother disappear around a corner. "I _t-told _them t-to be nice!" she exclaimed as she crossed her little arms over her chest.

"What? Who?" The dance mistress asked dazedly, opening her hand to stare at the pin once again.

Leaning slightly against Madame Giry's skirts, Aria shook her head and sighed again. "M-Momma and Erik," she stated matter of factly. "T-They fight all t-the time."

Shooting a shocked glance at the dark-headed little girl standing next to her, Madame Giry dropped to her knees, taking hold of Aria by both shoulders. "What did you just say?"

Looking slightly uneasy now, Aria squirmed in Madame Giry's grasp. "M-Momma and Erik. T-they always f-fight even t-though they are r-really g-good friends now. T-They even fought w-when h-he used to l-live with us l-last spring."

Swinging her head slowly around to watch Meg and Christine approach them, both girls looking over their shoulders after Brielle's fleeing form, Madame Giry felt her hands begin to shake. "Oh, my God…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A knock sounded on Brielle's door, causing her to sit up abruptly and scrub at her face. She hadn't been crying, the touch of anger within the hurt preventing such a reaction, but still she felt that her face was not presentable. Climbing to her feet, she ran to the mirror and quickly retied the handkerchief around her head, making sure every piece of hair was hidden. Going to the door she opened it, and she was surprised to find a rather agitated looking Madame Giry standing on the other side with her daughter.

Without preamble the dance mistress strode into the room, her sharp eyes shooting about as if she were looking for something. "I took it upon myself to come and return your daughter to you," she said, feigning calm. "It was so kind of you to allow an old widow like me to steal her away for so long. She is a constant source of entertainment…and enlightenment," she continued after a slight pause.

Brielle could only nod as she stared at Madame Giry, trying to pinpoint the reason behind the lady's obvious unrest. "Oh no…she loves to go off with you. She always tells me how well you tell a story," she said slowly as she watched Madame Giry make a full circle of the room. "It also affords me some time on my own…to…"

"To speak with old friends?" Madame Giry cut in, turning her head to watch Brielle's reaction.

Something about the older woman's expectant expression sent Brielle's heart to racing within her chest. It was almost as if she knew something. _Certainly she couldn't know that I WAS off talking to an old friend. Everyone here thinks he is dead. _"I suppose it would, if I had any old friends within the building. As you know, since you were there the day I was hired, I have only been here for a short time," she replied coolly, her face settling impassively into a guarded mask.

After a moment longer of searching Brielle's face, Madame Giry turned to the large mirror, adjusting her gown in the reflective surface. "That is true…I had forgotten," she said as she raised a hand to brush over the mirror's surface.

A dense, smothering silence fell over the room then, making Brielle distinctly uncomfortable. Moving to usher Aria toward the wardrobe, the Irishwoman thought to get the child to bed, using the activity as a distraction from Madame Giry's suspicious behavior. Pulling a plain white cotton nightgown from a drawer, Brielle bent down to remove Aria's shoes.

Dancing out of her mother's reach, Aria dodged to the side. "I don't want to go to bed yet!"

Chasing after the squirming child, Brielle caught hold of her near the bed. "Did I say anything about bed now? All I want is those shoes." Taking hold of Aria's feet, she deftly removed both of the child's little black boots before reaching up to untie the bow of her white pinafore. Pulling Aria's little blue dress over her head, Brielle turned to retrieve the nightgown. Seeing her opportunity, Aria ran out from under her mother's hand, tearing half naked around the room with the lack of inhibition that only a very small child could have.

Watching this ritual from her place at the mirror, Madame Giry seemed to relax slightly. Moving quickly, she caught Aria and returned her to Brielle's side, assisting in putting the nightgown over the child's head. "You know, just today I saw the girl who used to have this room as her dressing room. Christine was her name."

"Yes, I know. Many people tell all sorts of stories about her. Earlier today she came by. She and Meg ran off to catch up with each other. It must have been difficult for such good friends to be separated for so long."

"Some say separation is a good thing for the heart."

Pausing as she folded Aria's clothing, Brielle gave a little shrug, thinking of the endless months she had spent apart from Erik. "The person who said such a thing must have never truly loved. Separation is a torment."

"Perhaps that is why Christine came back," Madame Giry wondered aloud, her eyes fixed intently on Brielle's face. "She always did love…this place."

Tossing the clothes onto the bed, Brielle frowned over at Madame Giry, trying to figure out why the woman was making such odd statements. _She acts like she wants to ask me something…but can't get it out._ "Well…it was nice speaking to you, madame, but I am afraid it is high time for Aria to settle down. Thank you for watching her today…it gave me time to catch up on some reading," Brielle said, working up a smile as she politely ushered the dance mistress to the door.

Stopping on the threshold to the hall, Madame Giry turned to frown at Brielle. "I was worried about you…when I saw you run past us. We all thought something terrible had happened."

"You saw that?" Brielle asked, embarrassment staining her cheeks.

"Yes…whatever caused you to run so blindly?"

Turning her eyes to the floor, Brielle leaned against the doorframe. "Nothing of consequence. I will not burden you with my own troubles."

Sighing, apparently unsatisfied with the answer, Madame Giry reached out and laid a hand on Brielle's shoulder. "I wasn't overstating it when I said I was concerned…you are a good friend to my daughter…a calming influence even. And I adore your dear child. So…if you have any difficulties I would be happy to help. I know I am much older than you, but…sometimes experience is worth something." Patting Brielle's arm, Madame Giry took a step back, looking slightly less tense than she had when she came into the room, though it did appear she was still thinking hard about something.

"Yes, you are a good girl…not the excitable type."

Smiling slightly at the odd compliments, Brielle raised her eyes to the dance mistress's. "Yes, I should hope not."

Nodding, Madame Giry turned and set off down the hall. "Good night, then. And…I think it would be wise for you to keep your door locked from now on."

"Why is that?" Brielle asked, becoming suddenly nervous. _She acts like she knows something…it is maddening. _

"No reason, child…" was the reply as Madame Giry hurried off around a corner. "No reason at all."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sound of dripping water echoed in the distance as Erik paced the length of his underground apartments. Back and forth he stalked from the edge of the lake to the back wall of his bedroom, every step a jerky and stiff spasm of movement. Gone was the natural grace with which the masked man usually conducted himself, and in its stead was a mechanical preoccupation. He was more than brooding about what Brielle had told him, he was obsessing.

Pausing next to his bed, Erik stared fixedly at the wall in front of him, his eyes moving along the painted scene of the old backdrop hanging there. Reaching out, he adjusted the wall hanging slightly, insuring that the chill in the stone walls did not seep into the room. _Why is she here? Why did she come back after all this time? To bury the memory of the Opera Ghost?_ Quick as lightning in a summer storm, the fury rolled through his mind, igniting his blood until he was sure the heat would consume his body, and that he would turn into a pile of ash. _At least then I would have some peace…_

Clenching his fists, he turned from the wall and walked to the door, looking down the hall at a very particular room. His eyes narrowing, he glared at the closed door for what seemed like hours. Behind that door, he knew, was a carefully decorated space specifically designed with one woman in mind. He had made that room for her, for Christine. _The unmitigated gall...coming back here after so long._ Stiffening, Erik ground his teeth together as he continued to stare at Christine's old room, remembering how long and how hard he had worked to make it perfect for her. He had spent weeks agonizing over every detail, wanting her to be comfortable, wanting her to stay. _But of course she didn't…the ungrateful trollop…_ he thought bitterly, as hurt fought to break its way through the anger.

Growling, he whirled away from the sight of Christine's old room, and the memories it brought, turning his back on the hall. A violence he had sworn was no longer a part of him burned its way through his soul, poking holes in the last shreds of his control over his temper. _Stupid…hurtful…unseeing child! Hate her…Hate her Erik…don't let her haunt you any longer…don't let the hurt in. HATE HER!_

With a howl, the masked man swept an arm over a nearby tabletop, sending everything on it crashing to the floor. Driven by the chaotic explosion of shattering glass on the floor, he grabbed the corner of the table and heaved it halfway across the room. _Hate her…hate her…hate her!_ Turning in a wild circle in the middle of the floor, his eyes landed on the large four poster bed that he himself had carved from spare pieces of wood. Jumping forward, he began tearing at the red velvet canopy until the entire thing fell to the floor.

Breathing raggedly, he slowly sank down to slouch on the mattress, all the demonic strength of his temper suddenly deserting him. Raising a shaky hand to his face, he removed his mask. Holding the hardened white leather in one hand, he traced a finger along its inner surfaces. _Hate her…hate her…_he thought desperately as he dredged up the old humiliation she had caused, allowing the unhealed wounds to reopen and weep. His vision blurred as bitter tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, the agony he thought he had put to rest welling up within him. It had been months since he had thought of Christine on his own, and yet, just one mention of the girl, and the knowledge that she had been so close, was enough to send him spiraling backward into a pit of despair. _Why haven't I forgotten her by now? Why does it feel as if it all just happened yesterday? I should have let her go by now. _

_What did I do to deserve this agony? What terrible sin did I commit that cursed me with this blasted face! _As the cool air of the room washed over the right side of his face he flopped backward on the bed, wallowing in the self loathing now blackening his mind. Something lumpy poked him in the back as he lay down flat. Turning onto his side he reached under the remains of the canopy, groping tearfully for the object disrupting his pity party. Jerking the soft lumpy thing out he was about to throw it across the room when he paused.

The small cloth monkey he had found buried in one of his old trunks weeks ago grinned down at him, its black button eyes glittering in the flickering candlelight. Blinking at the toy for several moments, Erik let out a pent-up breath, the burning behind his eyes lessening slightly. For some reason the little monkey made him think of Brielle. _Strange…it shouldn't. I got this long before I ever knew her. The only toy of my childhood. _Without realizing it, the misery faded into the background as he lowered the toy to his chest.

Frowning at the simply made monkey, he struggled to bring up the memory of how he got the toy. _What was it again? There was a little girl there. She couldn't have been more than three years old. What in the world was such a young thing doing wandering about on her own? Strange little thing…giving someone like me a toy. But I remember those eyes…like it was yesterday…pale as a morning fog._ Unbidden the memory of Brielle's hurt face, with her hair spotted with pieces of straw, floated to the forefront of his mind.

Sitting up with a jerk Erik cursed furiously. "God damnit! I screamed at her like a raving lunatic, didn't I?" Growling over his own stupidity, he smacked a hand against his forehead. "I didn't really think about it until now. After she ran out of the barn I was so caught up in myself that I only noticed her hasty departure. Hell and damnation!" he snapped, using one of Conner's favorite phrases.

Setting the little monkey aside, he climbed hastily to his feet, and snatching up his mask he headed out the door with a quick, purposeful stride. "I should apologize…I should have apologized right then but I was too busy wallowing in my blasted temper to say anything intelligent. Stupid…stupid!"

Leaping into the waiting boat, he pushed off from the dock and set off over the perfectly smooth black water of the lake. Focused completely on the task at hand, he hardly even registered the time until he found himself pounding up the many flights of stairs that led to the upper floors, his heart galloping within his chest. Only when he was weaving his way through the dark corridors of the upper floors did he realize with a start that all thoughts of Christine had completely fled his notice.

Shocked, he came to an abrupt halt. Having realized the trickery of his own mind, thoughts of Christine came flooding back, engulfing his senses once again. Holding very still, he allowed the feelings to burn through his blood and, strangely enough, after a moment the claws of agony tearing at his mind released their hold. Raising a hand to his forehead, he wondered at this new development, and starting forward down the darkened corridor once again. _I wonder what time it is now…I should have looked at a clock before I came. It doesn't seem that late, but…who knows how much time I wasted. _

Spotting a light gray rectangle in the darkness before him, Erik slowed his pace, a burst of anxiety shooting into his system at the sight of the mirror. Coming up behind the glass quietly, he quickly realized that all lights in the room before him were turned off. Two forms slept in beds opposite each other, lying still and breathing the slow breaths of deep slumber. _I didn't realize it was this late. Surely I wasn't in my rooms for more than an hour…_ Turning sharp eyes to the clock sitting on a side table, he squinted at the time in wonder. _Three hours? How did three hours pass so quickly!_

Raising a hand to his head, Erik sighed. _I shouldn't wake them…surely…_he thought reasonably, the first logical thought of the evening, but despite this hesitation the urge to make things right pressed him forward. Touching the spot in the wall where the mechanism to open the door lay, he quietly slipped into the room without waking its occupants. Rubbing his hands together, Erik's nerves sprang up to send his heart to pounding within his chest. _Lord, you would think after all of the apologies I have had to make to her I wouldn't get nervous now. _

Squatting down next to Brielle's bed, the masked man reached out to wake her, when his eyes dropped to her sleeping face. Freezing in mid-motion he sucked in a breath and turned his head to the side, but though he looked away the image of her unguarded face was already burned into his brain. In sleep she had done away with any sort of covering for her hair so that it fanned out across her pillow, her perfect heart-shaped lips parting with every breath. As he stared fixedly at the floor in his mind he imagined brushing a finger along the curve of her cheek, the hollow of her throat, and down to… Raising a shaking had to press against his eyes, Erik took a breath. _My God…what is wrong with me? What happened...have I always been such a lecher or is this a new development? _

Brielle made a soft sound in her sleep and shifted on the bed, causing Erik snap his gaze back to her face and freeze, all thoughts within his head coming to a crashing halt as he waited to see if she was waking. When she settled back into stillness, he relaxed. The intensity of the moment before had passed, leaving him relieved. Free to study the sleeping woman now without the looming danger of his own darker thoughts, Erik peered down at her, his brow puckering in concentration. It did not take long for the inevitable comparison to leap into his head.

Had anyone asked him a year ago who he thought represented beauty the best, his answer would have of course been Christine. She had a timeless, fragile beauty that made it impossible to see beyond her face to the imperfections in her character, her youth and sheltered mind. Dark, bottomless eyes that gave the impression of understanding looked out of a face framed by rioting curls of pure mahogany. He had always loved her hair, and had imagined what it would feel like to run his fingers through it. _Like that ever happened…_ But now as he watched Brielle sleeping he realized, perhaps for the first time, just how gorgeous she was. _Strange…she is so different from Christine. I could have once sworn that Christine was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen…but now._ Where Christine was dark, Brielle was light. Her hair, straight as a fireplace poker, was white as freshly fallen snow, and yet, he found himself transfixed whenever she allowed her hair to be free. _And I thought I loved curls…_ And of course Brielle's eyes, rather than being dark and mysterious, were the odd color of a sea fog, hiding nothing but seeing everything. How could it be possible to look upon two women so different and yet see such overwhelming beauty?

_Of course, it isn't really her face which makes her so alluring, _Erik thought now as he continued to watch Brielle sleep. _It is her personality, I think. Never have I met a woman as smart as she. I daresay she could best me at any subject given the opportunity. We used to debate for hours on all sorts of subjects. _Sobering at the thought, Erik's mouth turned down into a frown. _Actually, now that I think about it…I hardly know anything about Christine besides her love of music. Surely I must know something…I loved her as I loved no one else..._

As he tried to puzzle over this strange realization, Brielle sighed and squinted open an eye. "Are you going to stand there all night? It is sort of disconcerting to be watched while you are trying to sleep."

Gasping in surprise, Erik fell back onto his backside. "How long have you been awake!"

Opening her other eye, Brielle yawned sleepily. "Just a minute or so. You know you talk to yourself when you are thinking really hard about something."

"What? I do not!" Erik mumbled as he righted himself. _God…what if I do? What did I say! _

"Don't worry though…you never make any sense," Brielle continued as if he hadn't spoken. Closing her eyes slowly, she pulled the covers up to her chin. "Did you need something? Or should I come to expect late night visits through the mirror?"

_Late night visits…I wish…God damnit I am doing it again! _Clenching his mouth shut, he felt a wave of heat work its way up his face. Shaking his head, Erik tried to discern her mood from her expression, but found the task to be completely beyond him at the moment. _She is teasing me…surely. But isn't she angry with me? She should be angry, shouldn't she? I screamed at her like a madman. _"I came to apologize to you…"

Nodding slowly, Brielle yawned again. "Yes, I know. I figured you would eventually. Why did you wait so long?"

"I didn't realize how late it had become."

"Busy brooding?" she asked lightly, as she opened her eyes to look over at him through the darkness, the characteristic gray of her gaze lost in the darkness of the room.

"That is no excuse…I am a terrible example of a human being. You tried to relay an important piece of information to me in a calm and gentle way and I exploded in your face. I had thought that I had gained some sort of control over my temper…but apparently I did not. I am so sorry for the way I reacted. I cannot believe what I did."

Raising up onto one elbow, Brielle pursed her lips in thought. "I accept your apology. I knew you weren't really in your right mind at the time. However, as you know, I will not put up with such behavior. I was understanding this time…but next time I cannot guarantee how I will react."

"I know," he sighed, leaning forward to rest his face in both his hands. _She should be angry…_The guilt over his uncontrolled behavior ate away at his insides. Belatedly he wondered at her calm acceptance, knowing that he didn't deserve such a reaction. Temper would be far easier to deal with. He knew how to face down her wrath. The fact that she was taking the higher ground made him uneasy. "And you shouldn't have to. Why aren't you furious with me?"

"Oh, I was but now I am too tired. It was sneaky of you to come while I was sleepy."

"What no…I didn't even realize…"

"Calm down. I wasn't accusing you of anything," she sighed as she watched him shift into a more comfortable sitting position. "And you aren't a terrible person, Erik. If you were you wouldn't have come to say you were sorry."

Taken aback by this Erik could only stare at her for several moments. A smile slowly pulled at the corners of his mouth. _How does she do that? Make me feel…like I can be a better person…That I am a good person. _"You are too kind."

"No, I am not. I am just saying the truth." Pausing there, she reached up to brush a piece of hair out of her eyes, her action drawing Erik's undivided attention. _God her every action is so…fascinating._

Biting her bottom lip, Brielle frowned over at him. "Is it safe for me to ask what you intend to do about Christine?" she asked slowly, obviously taking great care over her choice of words.

Dropping his hands to his knees, Erik lowered his gaze to the floor. "I really don't know."

After a brief hesitation, her finger tapping nervously against the mattress, Brielle sat up in the bed, leaning her elbows on her thighs. "Obviously she cannot bury you…seeing as you are still alive."

"Yes, obviously not…but I am at a loss as to what to do. When I think about last year…about what happened…I feel the fury begin to rise up within me like a tide. And yet, there is something within me that wants to see her again…for the longest time she seemed to be the only person in the world who could hear my plight and understand. She was my inspiration…"

As he continued to speak, Brielle became very still, her body frozen in position as she listened to him speak. Concerned by her silence, Erik glanced back up to her face. "I trust your judgment, Brielle…what should I do?" he asked, hating the pleading note he heard in his own voice.

"Do not ask me that…" she breathed shakily.

Sitting up straighter, he openly frowned over this statement. She had never refused to speak freely with him before. It was disconcerting that she should do so now. He felt the loss of her candor like a blow to the stomach. "Brielle…"

"Do you still love her?" she asked finally, the thickening of her accent giving away her agitation.

Surprised by the bluntness of the question, Erik sat back, staring at Brielle as the wheels in his head spun around wildly. _Do I? Does something like that ever die? Or does it change? _"I don't know…" he moaned dejectedly. "Truly I do not know. I am so angry…but…"

"But you just don't know…" she finished for him, her breath catching in her throat on the last word.

Sensing more than seeing a shift in Brielle's attitude, Erik tilted his head to the side, trying to pinpoint exactly what it was that caused the change. He felt her hurt like a wound in his own heart, and anger hung thick in the air like woodsmoke. _What did I say? What changed? It happened when I mentioned that I was uncertain about what to do. Why would that bother her...unless._

Taking a deep breath, Brielle gave herself a little shake, and the explosive emotions Erik had felt floating through the air faded. "Well, it seems clear that you haven't let her memory go yet," Brielle said as she got to her feet. "I think your answer lies in what you feel you must do in order to do that." Feigning another yawn she turned her face to the side as she walked to the mirror. "But it is late…we should continue this conversation another time. I don't want to wake Aria."

Staring up at her, Erik shook his head at her unshakable calm. It was amazing really. "Yes, you are right," he mumbled as he stood and walked to the mirror, feeling worse inside than he had when he had come. _Isn't apologizing supposed to make you feel better? _Somehow he felt he had betrayed her trust in some way, and the feeling was intolerable. "Brielle, I didn't mean to…"

Raising a hand before he could continue, Brielle interrupted him. "Good night, Erik," she said firmly, refusing to meet his gaze.

Blinking at her terse farewell, the masked man clenched his mouth closed, sensing an unnamable determination in her stance now. It felt as if she were planning something in her head. The urge to say something more was nearly overwhelming for a moment. He couldn't help but feel he was leaving the situation unfinished. But when Brielle continued to stare at the floor, he backed up and turned to the mirror, opening it in one quick motion. _Maybe now is not the right time…_

"Good night, Brielle." When he stepped over the mirror's threshold he felt as if he were leaving behind something vital.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was getting late, several hours had passed since sunset, but the Paris night life showed no signs of slowing, especially in the twisting streets and alleys that made up the city's vast red light district. New electric lights cast their steady, garish glow down onto the streets from countless advertisements. Roving crowds of revelers passed each other on the street, shouting to each other to inquire where the best wine could be found or which pleasure house had the prettiest women.

The silhouette of a fashionably dressed gentleman stood leaning against a painted brick wall between two rather noisy bars, his dark eyes scanning the boisterous occupants of the street with cool disdain. Compared to the other men passing from bar to bar, he did not stand out in either his dress or his manner. Turning his head to glance back toward the darkness behind him, he raised a cigarette to his lips and lazily took a drag, the tip glowing devil red in the shadows.

Exhaling a writhing cloud of smoke, Andrew spotted another man walking hurriedly up the alley toward him. Flicking the half spent cigarette to the ground, he flashed a humorless smile in greeting as the other man came up alongside him. "So good to see you again," he said pleasantly.

The newcomer grunted slightly, shifting backward so that his face remained in shadow. "If it is all the same to you, my lord, could you cut the bullshit?"

"Certainly," Andrew replied, unaffected by the bluntness of his companion.

"Can you tell me what this is all about now?" the man asked with a broad gesture, indicating their surroundings with one swoop of his arm. "This place isn't your usual scene."

Shrugging eloquently, Andrew reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of gray leather gloves. "Well, I am certainly glad to hear that you don't consider this festering sewer to be my normal haunt," he stated sarcastically.

"I didn't mean any disrespect, my lord, but surely you see how odd this must seem. Why did you ask me to meet you here, of all places?"

Tugging on one glove, then the other, Andrew pursed his lips slightly and glared at a particularly loud group of passing men. "Unfortunately, the vices of the rich are such that there are a multitude of young men wandering this area at night. Though I find the very idea of this place to be disgusting, it is a convenient meeting place to not be noticed."

"Why the secrecy, then?"

"I have a job for you…"

"Yes, I know I was on my way to the Opera House when I received your message…"

Waving a hand to interrupt the man before he could continue, Andrew shook his head. "No, there is more than that. I need a pair of eyes on the inside of the Opera. You will serve as those eyes."

"You are the new patron…why can you not go there whenever you like."

"Oh, I can," Andrew replied. "However, in order to achieve my current goal that would be unadvisable. You see I am searching for someone, someone who doesn't want to be found right now, someone I believe to be hiding within the Opera House. I am not a stupid man. I know I will never find her in that place unless she feels safe enough to come out into the open."

"She, my lord?"

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Andrew pulled out a small framed picture and handed it to the man. "My wayward fiancée. That is a copy of the most recent portrait of her."

Taking the picture hesitantly, the man glanced at it then back up at Andrew. "May I ask why she doesn't want to be found, my lord?"

"You may; however, I do not feel inclined to explain myself or the actions of my future wife to you. All you need to know is that she must be found…and may not know that it is in her best interests to be found. I am certain her brother, a Mr. Conner Sinclair, is helping to hide her away. She was traveling with her young daughter…the child has a severe stutter…it will help you find her as well."

The man shifted uncomfortably. "My lord, I am grateful for all you have done for me and my family…but I don't like not knowing the full way of things."

Sensing the other man's unease, Andrew turned sharply and regarded him with black unblinking eyes. "Do my ears deceive me or do I hear you trying to refuse to do this small favor for me?" he asked, his voice dipping dangerously low.

"No, my lord, I would do anything for the Donovan family…but I…"

Taking one step toward the man, Andrew drew himself up to his full height, glaring at the man eye to eye. "Did I or did I not find you picking people's pockets to make a living not ten years ago?"

The man cringed away from Andrew's threatening advance. "You did, my lord."

"And do you wish to be thrown back into that life or remain in the station to which I have raised you?" Andrew hissed, the blinking electric lights flashing in the flatness of his eyes.

There was a slight pause as the man hung his head, wringing his hands nervously before him. Finally looking up, the man's expression hardened. "Just name your terms, my lord."

Relaxing almost immediately, Andrew stepped back, his manner returning to that of a well mannered gentleman. "Good…very good. You will not regret your decision."


	54. Dark Water

**Hey everyone! A week goes by so quickly! Here is the next chapter for you! Hope you like it. Um, just to give you all fair warning…there is a killer cliffhanger at the end of this one. But not to worry…remember…I promised you all a happy ending. Though I do feel sort of bad leaving such a horrible cliffhanger. Sorry!**

**Huge thanks to Terpsichore314 for her wonderful editing skills. Her advice and opinions were really helpful in this chapter! Hurray for her!**

**Oh and Hurray for IHeartPoto! She did another wonderful pic for me from one of the earlier chapters. The one where Brielle made Erik and Aria a birthday cake. Hehehehehe….it is so great. If you want to see it go to the link…just take out the spaces and there you go.**

**http/ www. Deviantart. com/ view/ 30210107/**

**P.S. Happy Birthday Ally N.S. (One day early.)**

**P.S.S. I cannot believe how many great reviews I got for the last chapter! Thanks so much you guys. You are all awesome! I tried to take most of your suggestions into mind while writing this chapter and will continue to do so in the upcoming ones. So Thanks!**

Chapter 54: Dark Water

Three days passed with dreadful slowness, and with every day that went by Brielle felt that she was that much closer to losing her mind. Nothing happened, that was the problem, and there didn't appear to be any sort of a resolution to look forward to. As she went about her daily activities, mainly soothing Carlotta's fears through her Tarot cards, she kept waiting for something to blow up, but Erik apparently had taken her advice and was keeping a low profile during the day, while Christine seemed to be at a loss ever since Brielle began locking her door.

One difference Brielle did notice came from a very unlikely source. Madame Giry had taken to keeping close tabs on her through the day, making Brielle wonder at the new interest from the dance mistress. _Not like I don't have other things to worry about,_ she thought to herself as she leaned her chin on her elbow, watching the practice onstage with muted interest. Carlotta was prancing about, as usual, with all of her normal flair, her voice shaking slightly on a high note.

Beside her stood a tall, almost gangly man with ash brown hair. His name was Daniel Jones, the new tenor. He had arrived two days ago with only one trunk of baggage and a friendly smile. For being such a thin man his voice was certainly beyond compare, booming out of his slight frame with a shocking strength. _Mr. Jones is very talented. I bet the managers are glad they actually gave in to Andrew's demands. _

A shiver of dread ran up her spine at the thought of Andrew, all the hairs along the back of her neck standing on end as her blood froze within her veins. Stiffening where she sat just off one of the stage's wing, Brielle turned her head slowly, her eyes searching the immediate area, fully expecting to see the man of her nightmares standing behind her. Seeing no one but the singers and Father Thomas on the far side of the stage she forced herself to relax. _Jeeze…Brielle, what is wrong with you? Getting all excited for no reason. You are fine…safe…no one will find us here. _

Letting out a pent-up breath, Brielle waved to Father Thomas when she noticed that he was looking at her. The blonde man started slightly and waved back before turning to disappear behind several half built set pieces. _Actually, the poor father is acting very strangely as well. Something must be worrying him._ The singing stopped onstage when the conductor began banging his baton against his music stand, frustration painted all over his face as he tried to correct Carlotta's pronunciation.

"No…no…no! The word is 'happ…y…ness.' Not 'harpydess,' madame," he moaned as he raised a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

Instantly puffing up at the criticism, Carlotta threw up her hands in frustration. "I know, I know! I am not-a stupid!" she shouted, the volume of her voice startling the new conductor so badly that he dropped his baton. Marching over to where Brielle sat, Carlotta began cursing under her breath in rapid Italian, the dark feathers in her hat waving madly with her agitated movements.

"Can you-a believe 'im?" the diva asked with a wave back towards the conductor. "I-a don't tink he knows who he is talking to!" Raising a hand to her throat, she gave a little cough then.

"You shouldn't shout so. It can't be good for your voice. I don't think you would have to strain so much on the high notes if you didn't shout so much," Brielle stated calmly as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small blue spray bottle. Carlotta stomped a foot in outrage, but Brielle stood before the other woman to launch into another rant. "I made this for your throat," she said as she held out the bottle for the older woman. "I don't know who gave you that other stuff you had, but it was terrible."

"Dat is stupid. It always makes my throat feel better," Carlotta snapped as she folded her arms across her chest, refusing to take the bottle from Brielle's hand.

"That is because it numbed your throat so you wouldn't feel the pain when you were straining yourself." Shaking her own bottle slightly, Brielle continued. "This will actually soothe the irritation away."

Hissing out a breath, Carlotta snatched the bottle and looked down at it. "I do not-a pay you for dis sort of ting."

Shrugging, Brielle sat back down. "It was something to keep me busy. I have been worrying about something."

"Yes, I 'ave noticed dat you 'ave been really quiet these last few days. It is annoying! I do not-a want to be around grumpy people. I…" Stopping in mid-sentence Carlotta stared off over Brielle's head, her dark eyes wide with shock. Turning in her chair, Brielle followed the diva's gaze with her own, spotting Christine lurking behind a curtain. Raising a shaking finger, Carlotta pointed at the younger girl and let out a shriek.

Jumping to her feet, Brielle grabbed onto the taller woman's arm when Carlotta took several charging steps toward where Christine stood. Christine, for her part, started at Carlotta's shout and quickly disappeared behind the curtain, the hurried sound of her footsteps fading as she ran off. "What is she doing 'ere! Do dey hate me dat much!" Carlotta howled, as she strained against Brielle's grip.

"Perhaps she is visiting Meg," Brielle said hurriedly as she struggled to hold onto the diva's arm.

"No…no! My career is-a over! She has come back to kill me dead! Like she did before!" Carlotta whined as she raised both hands to her face.

Opening her mouth to respond, Brielle was interrupted when the taller woman jerked out of her grip and rushed off the stage in tears, heading straight for her dressing room. A great sigh rose up behind her as everyone on stage realized that practice had once again been interrupted. The conductor threw up his hands in defeat, tossing his baton onto his music stand with enough force to dislodge of few pieces of the sheet music. Mr. Jones stood with his mouth hanging open as he stared off after the retreating diva, his hazel eyes overlarge as he focused in on Brielle's face.

A slight frown developed between his brows as he searched her face. "Is she always like that?" he asked slowly, a hint of London's East End haunting every word.

Shrugging, Brielle held up both hands. "Yes, but she will come back in a little while. Don't worry about it. There is still plenty of time before opening night."

Walking towards her, the new tenor squinted curiously at her face. "Good to know."

Nodding, Brielle stepped away from the tall man. "I should go after her though…perhaps I can get her out of her room in about an hour."

"An hour!" the conductor bellowed from where he still stood in the pit. "We will run out of time! I can't believe this!"

"Ack, settle down there. Surely the orchestra can still practice without her," Conner's voice said from somewhere in the pit. "And Mr. Jones can still sing…let's just start another section!"

Glad to no longer be everyone's focus, Brielle turned and dashed off after Carlotta. As she passed a series of plaster Ionic columns, Aria came running out from behind one of them. Brielle came to a grinding halt just before she ran over her daughter. "What on earth are you doing running around out here? I thought you were in the schoolroom."

Twisting her skirt about her knees, Aria smiled up at her mother. "It was b-boring so I l-left."

"God a' mighty! You can't just run about on your own!"

Pouting, Aria released her skirt and moved forward to latch onto her mother's. "I w-wasn't alone. I was p-playing with Christine. H-hide and seek…b-but she ran off b-before she could find me."

"She was playing hide and seek with you?" Brielle asked in disbelief. _I wouldn't have thought she would have the patience to muck about with a child. I should be mad that Aria wasn't in school…but it was sort of nice of Christine to look out for her._ Sighing heavily, Brielle gave up on trying to be mad at the former singer, though she really wished that she could be. It would have made things much simpler if she could just hate the girl.

"Well, she ran off because I think she knew Carlotta was about to kill her," Brielle said as she looked up and down the hall. "Speaking of which, did you happen to see Carlotta run by? I thought I would go and try to calm her down."

Shaking her head, Aria raised her arms up into the air until Brielle bent to pick her up. "I d-didn't see her," Aria said as she laid her head against her mother's shoulder. "D-Do I have to g-go b-back to school now? I already k-know how to read!"

"I must be a terrible mother," Brielle muttered to herself before patting Aria on the head. "No, you don't have to go back right now, but tomorrow you have to stay the whole time. It is important to go to school." Continuing her lecture on the importance of learning, Brielle made her way to the hall where most of the dressing rooms were. Walking up to Carlotta's closed door, she raised her fist and banged on the wood. The only response was the sound of some piece of furniture being smashed against a wall. Lowering Aria to the floor, Brielle tried again.

"Signora? Do come out. Everyone misses you onstage." There was a slight pause in the commotion within the room but soon enough the crashes and curses began again. Pointedly covering Aria's ears when the curses switched to English, Brielle took a step back from the door. "Well, I don't suppose she is ready to come out."

Aria rolled her eyes. "S-She is h-having a tantrum. I d-didn't think old p-people had tantrums."

"Yes, well not all _old people_ act their age. In fact, I am not sure if…" The sound of two arguing voices rounded the corner at that point, interrupting Brielle's train of thought.

Turning her head toward the sound, she took several steps away from Carlotta's door. It took only seconds to recognize Madame Giry's distinctively authoritative voice. What was odd was the fact that the normally reserved woman was actually shouting at someone. And someone, whose voice rang bell like through the air, had the gall to be shouting back at her. As Brielle absently stroked the top of Aria's head, she watched Madame Giry and Christine round the corner, both completely absorbed in their fight.

"You must leave this place! You do not belong here any longer. Already Carlotta has seen you and you see what a disruption it was!" Madame Giry hissed, her voice carrying loudly in the quiet of the hall. No one else was around.

Christine balled her fists at her sides, standing her ground in the face of the dance mistress's intensity. "Do not bully me! You aren't in charge of my actions any longer."

"No, your husband should be!" Madame Giry retorted quickly. "But you haven't even told him you are here."

Outrage flashed over Christine's face as she turned and tried to push past the dance mistress. "I don't have to listen to this. And who cares about Carlotta? She is a wicked and mean old wash up! You know how she treated me!"

Grabbing hold of Christine's arm, Madame Giry stopped the younger girl's retreat. "Yes, but look how you treated her! You allowed poor Erik to push her out of your way in order to further your ambition."

"I didn't ask him to do any of that!" Christine shouted, the curls about her face bouncing wildly as she flung out her arms, pulling free of Madame Giry's white-knuckled grip.

"But you didn't stop him either! Not until you realized things were going beyond your control! Only then did you realize how dangerous your dark angel could be. That is why you should leave. Let things rest. Do not stir up old memories again."

"He is dead now! There is nothing to stir up. Why is it that everyone I see says I should leave…no one wants to help me. I don't understand. First, Meg won't make her friend let me use the mirror and now you are trying to force me to leave!" Softening her voice, Christine leaned heavily against the wall, as if her outburst had drained her energy reserves. "Why can't you understand that I have to put him to rest? I have to…he would have wanted at least to be buried…like a normal man. I am trying to do what is right…"

Sighing heavily, Madame Giry stepped forward and placed her hand on Christine's shoulder. "This place was his home, Christine. Perhaps you wish to do this thing for yourself? To make yourself feel better…and not for him. We cannot change what happened…everyone made mistakes."

Raising her hands to her face, the vicomtesse began to quietly weep, her slight shoulders sagging in grief. "But no one more than me. I did terrible things because I am so weak. I know I am not a strong person…that is why I loved him so much. His voice was always so certain, so strong. That is why I first loved Raoul, too…I knew I would be safe because truly I know there is a cowardice within me. What is so wrong about trying to make up a small portion of my sins against my poor angel?"

The wobbling of Christine's words was enough to pull at Brielle's heart, and she felt sorry for the girl. _She can't be older than nineteen now…she is still just a child. My god…Erik is almost old enough to be her blessed father. No wonder she acted as she did. _Wincing at the conversation at the end of the hallway, Brielle slowly took hold of Aria's hand as she turned to tiptoe toward the end of the hall, where the door of her own room stood closed. She wanted to sneak away without being noticed by the arguing pair. _Perhaps Madame Giry can convince her to leave without there being a problem. _

Pulling out her key, she stuck it into the lock and very carefully tried to turn it without making any noise. The tumblers stuck stubbornly in the lock, foiling her plan at silence when they stuttered loudly into motion, the door falling inward as the lock clanked open. Freezing where she stood, Brielle heard the talking at the end of the hall come to a sudden stop. Quickly ushering Aria into the room, she looked over her shoulder in time to see Christine charging down the hallway toward her, a fiercely determined expression pinching her pert little mouth shut, Madame Giry racing along after her. _Shit!_

Hurriedly stepping into the room, Brielle gave one last ditch effort at escaping the feverish gaze of the young vicomtesse, but Christine leapt forward and planted one hand flat against the door. "Wait! Do not shut me out," she pleaded desperately, the tracks from her tears glistening down her flushed cheeks.

Madame Giry came up behind Christine, trying to take hold of the girl and pull her away from the door. "Christine…come away now. Do not bother Madame Donner," the dance mistress said, shooting Brielle a quick searching look. Once again the Irishwoman had the distinct feeling that Madame Giry knew something she wasn't saying.

Shaking off Madame Giry's grip, Christine reached forward and took hold of Brielle's hand, her dark eyes red-rimmed and pleading. "I know I was terribly rude to you when we first met," she began, "but please put aside your dislike of me for only a little while and I will never bother you again."

Aria moved closer to Brielle's skirts as she stared uncertainly up at Christine, obviously concerned over her hide-and-seek pal's distress. Sticking her thumb nervously into her mouth, Aria wrapped an arm around Brielle's leg. "M-Momma…what is wrong?"

Seemingly noticing Aria for the first time, Christine let go of Brielle. Raising a hand to her mouth she gasped aloud. "Oh my god! I just ran off and left in the middle of our game! I am so stupid!"

Taking pity on the distraught girl, Brielle stepped aside and allowed her into the room, offering the vicomtesse a chair. Madame Giry stood stiffly in the doorway, her eyes fixated upon the mirror. Moving around the table, Brielle took the other chair in the room, folding her hands in her lap in order to keep them from wringing nervously. _If Erik should be behind the mirror, would he be able to stop himself from coming out to talk to her…_ The thought made her feel ill, but the more she got to know Christine the less she was inclined to treat her harshly. It felt too much like kicking a puppy.

"You have shown great interest in my room, Madame," Brielle began slowly, trying to sound like she wasn't already privy to the reason behind this behavior. "Is there a reason for this?" _I wonder what she is going to say. She doesn't seem the type to be good at lying…but I am a stranger to her._

The dark-eyed girl fidgeted under Brielle's steady gaze. "This used to be my dressing room when I was a singer here last year."

"Ah…" Brielle replied with a nod, allowing her silence to hang in the air between them. In the doorway Madame Giry had now turned her sharp eyes to Brielle, pinning her to the chair with a deeply considering gaze.

Sighing, Christine laid her hands on the table. "How much did you hear of what I said out in the hall?" she asked suddenly. "Because it is very important that not many people know some of that information."

"Well, I…" Brielle began.

Sitting forward in her chair, Christine earnestly continued on, and suddenly Brielle could see the appeal of the young girl. She had a genuine manner about her, fully expressing every emotion as it came over her, that led a person to want to relax around her. _She might be a silly child…but I can see why people would like her. _

"Last year, before I got married, there was a terrible accident here at the theater and I lost a close friend," Christine said with a sad sort of frown. "That mirror has a passageway behind it. When you caught me that first day I was trying to open it and get into that passage. I wanted to go and find this old…friend in order to give him a proper funeral."

Brielle raised her eyebrows, as if surprised, during this speech. Christine opened her mouth to continue as a tinkling melody struck up from the corner of the room. Both Madame Giry and Christine stiffened where they were as they listened to the first several seconds of the simple tune, and all eyes turned to where Aria sat with the music box Erik had given her in her lap. Closing her eyes, Brielle sucked in a breath. _Please…Please…don't tell me they recognize that stupid music box…please…_

Christine's chair protested noisily as the vicomtesse jerked to her feet, her dark eyes watching the little monkey on the music box clang its cymbals together. Slowly the sad, desperate look in her expression shifted to suspicion, then anger. "Where did you get that?" she demanded, her voice dipping low.

Madame Giry pushed away from the doorframe, her normally stern face loose and staring at the music box. "I knew it…" she whispered to herself, drawing both Brielle and Christine's startled gazes.

"You knew what?" Brielle asked, as she slowly climbed to her feet, trying all the while to appear calm, though her insides were twisting inside her.

"You knew this woman was stealing things from his home and you didn't do anything! She is a thief!" Christine shouted as she rounded on Madame Giry.

Bristling, Brielle straightened, her spine going ramrod straight. All softer feelings of pity went flying out the window as Christine's perfect little mouth formed the word 'thief.' "Be careful who you are calling thief, madame," Brielle growled threateningly, her gray eyes narrowing as she pushed her chair in.

Christine shot her a furious glare before turning and striding across the room with lightning speed. Before Brielle could stop her, the vicomtesse bent down and snatched the music box right out of Aria's hands, Christine's actions deteriorating downward into the childishness that Brielle had sensed from the beginning was behind her sad brown eyes. Aria jumped to her feet, hopping up and down to try and retrieve her toy from the older woman. Clutching the music box to her chest, Christine backed up until she ran into the mirror, refusing to allow the child to touch it.

"This whole time you were lying to me! You knew about the passage because you were stealing things from his house! This is his music box! It isn't yours!"

Digging her fingers into the back of her chair, Brielle bared her teeth when she saw the tears start to gather in Aria's eyes. "You had better put that down right now, or, so help me, I will take it from you…and I don't think you would like how I would take it."

Sensing the threat hidden in those words, Christine clutched the music box tighter. "I don't have to listen to you. You can't do anything to me. I am a vicomtesse…in case you didn't know. My husband is from a very powerful family. You can't do anything to me."

"Your husband isn't here…" Brielle stated matter-of-factly.

Gasping aloud at this, Christine turned frightened eyes to Madame Giry, looking for support. "Do you see that? She is threatening me! Look at her eyes! I can see it in her eyes…they are just like his were when he went and did something crazy!" Christine shrieked hysterically.

"Stop shouting, you silly girl," Madame Giry snapped as she took a step into the room. "Don't you see what is really happening? She didn't steal that music box at all…"

Interrupting the dance mistress, Christine cut in, refusing to hear anything opposing what she already believed to be true. "So you won't help, then? I knew it…everyone hates me for what happened! No one cares about how badly I feel!" Turning, she ran out the door, pushing past Madame Giry in order to make her hasty exit.

Seeing her music box going out the door with the vicomtesse, Aria started to cry. "M-Momma! She s-stole my t-toy! It was the one Erik g-gave me!"

"Lies! You are all lying! He would never give you people anything," Christine shrieked as she raced off down the hall, leaving everyone staring after her in shocked silence. Brielle had never seen a grown person act in such a way before. It was alarming how quickly Christine's entire demeanor had changed. In the matter of a few seconds she had gone from humble desperation to violent hysteria.

Coming forward, her hands raised in a calming gesture, Madame Giry stepped between Brielle and the door. "Don't mind her. This has always been how she has dealt with stress. She can't help but act like this…she never accepted her father's death…never grew up afterward. At first I thought she had gotten a little better, but it seems…she has reverted."

"This is not the behavior of a child. Aria is four years old and she doesn't go around screaming at people and breaking into people's rooms," Madame Giry tried to take hold of Brielle's arm, but the Irishwoman broke away from her touch. "No! That is the behavior of a young girl who has never been checked in her life. People feel sorry for her because of her grief, but truly it is not an excuse to act like a spoiled brat. And I for one will NOT let her get away with it!"

Turning, she quickly knelt in front of Aria, taking the child's face in her hands. As she watched her daughter's tear-filled eyes rise to meet hers, the anger fanned ever higher within her, making it hard to be gentle as she wiped Aria's wet cheeks. _Snatching a toy right out of a child's hands… _"You stay here for a little while. Momma will be right back with your music box."

Brielle placed a kiss on Aria's forehead when the child stared hiccupping through her tears. "Don't worry…" Climbing to her feet, Brielle turned and strode toward the door, her fury staining her cheeks a bright pink.

When Madame Giry tried to stop her, she merely dodged to the side and ran out the door, the heels of her button-up shoes pounding upon the wooden floor. Gripping her skirts firmly in both hands, she raced to the end of the hall just in time to see the lacy bustle of the Vicomtesse de Chagny disappearing around another corner. Picking up her pace, she careened around the same corner and chased the fleeing vicomtesse with renewed vigor. Still strong from her months of work on the cleaning staff, it did not take long for Brielle to catch up to the frailer girl. Chasing her into a dead end, Brielle physically blocked Christine's escape. The brown-eyed girl banged a fist against the wall in frustration before whirling around to face Brielle.

Raising a hand to her chest, Brielle struggled to catch her breath. "All right, enough of this foolishness. Return that music box to me and I will be willing to forget about this whole thing."

Backing up, Christine pressed herself against the wall, the wildness in her eyes sharpening into outrage. Apparently she couldn't believe Brielle had actually followed her. "Don't you come near me, you crazy Irish…eh…um…"

Her lip curling up slightly, Brielle ignored Christine's command and took a threatening step forward. "What? Irish whore?...Thief…Potato punching bitch? Pick one…I have heard them all."

Her mouth falling open at Brielle's inflammatory language, Christine could only shake her head vaguely. "No…I mean I didn't…no…I wouldn't say that…"

"Oh please…don't get all high and mighty. I know you were thinking it." When Christine continued to protest, Brielle stabbed her finger through the air, silencing the girl with the movement. "What is the matter? Are you too good to insult someone?" The vicomtesse stared at Brielle like the Irishwoman was a spawn of hell.

"You are crazy."

"Give it back," Brielle demanded, ignoring Christine's insult as she gestured to the music box still clutched in the girl's hands.

"No! I won't! And I won't let you intimidate me! This doesn't belong to you. If anything, it is mine!"

"Oh? How do you figure that?" Brielle asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Shifting uncomfortably, Christine's gaze flickered back and forth from the floor to Brielle's face. "It was my friend's…I told you. I was his only friend so…so…if anything this is mine, because there is no one else to care for his things…no one else for him to leave it to."

Scoffing at Christine's speech, Brielle threw up her hands in disbelief. _His only friend? My lord, she does have a funny way of remembering things._ Unable to hold her tongue any longer, Brielle stepped forward and grabbed hold of the music box, her face barely five inches from Christine's. "You are unbelievable. I don't know how you describe friendship…but I certainly don't consider leaving a man down in a smoke-riddled sewer to be an act of friendship!"

Refusing to let go of the toy which was now the only thing that separated them, Christine blinked at Brielle in shock. "How do you know that!" she breathed.

Realizing her mistake, Brielle mentally cursed. _Damn it, now I have said too much…no one else should know that…and here I am blabbering on! Damn it! _But somehow, despite the repercussions involved in revealing too much, Brielle couldn't help the urge to say more. The mere thought of this girl taking a holier-than-thou attitude when it came to Erik somehow made logic fly out the window. Brielle felt the caustic waves of white hot anger eat away at her thoughts as she remembered how utterly defeated and shattered Erik had looked when she had first found him. _Lying face down, soaking wet in the dark…calling out her name even though he knew she had left him to the mob. _

"I know many things…like how you believed he was an angel sent from heaven to protect you. And that you loved this because it made you feel like you were not some cowardly slip of a girl with no real character. Oh, how it must have disappointed you when you realized that he was only a man…and a deformed one at that…and not the perfection that you had imagined. Ruined the dream didn't it?" she snapped, peppering the younger girl with one harsh question after another, finding herself unable to stop the flow of poison dripping from her own lips.

Christine's bottom lip began to tremble as Brielle took a breath and barreled on. "But there is one thing I cannot figure out," Brielle continued, jerking the music box violently out of Christine's now loose fingers. "Was it really his face or your own shallowness that made it impossible for you to love him?"

Her voice rang harshly in the air as Christine's face lost all of its rosy color, her skin turning the color of old bone. A horrified shadow swept through Christine's dark eyes, she was visibly thinking over Brielle's words, wondering if what was said was true. Letting her hands fall limply to her sides, Christine slowly shook her head, a touch of anger stiffening her slight body.

"How dare you…! What do you know of it or anything else? You weren't there! You don't know how tormented I was and am over everything! How dare you!" Bringing her hand up quickly, she brought it across Brielle's cheek with just enough force to make it sting. Gasping over the willfulness of her own action, the girl quickly pushed away from the wall and edged around Brielle's stunned figure, regret swimming in her eyes. "Oh my god! I am sorry…I didn't mean to…I mean I didn't want to hurt you its just…I was so mad…and…"

Turning to set the toy in her hands down onto the floor, Brielle raised a hand to her face. _So she wants to play it that way, does she? _she thought grimly as she straightened. "I am willing to offer you a little bit of advice, Madame de Chagny," Brielle said softly, as she slowly moved closer to the fidgeting girl. "If you ever hit someone in the future…do not apologize for it."

Swinging her open hand backward, she brought her palm across Christine's face with enough force to knock the girl to the ground. Feeling incredibly wicked for how good this felt, Brielle stood over the prostrated girl with a triumphant smirk plastered across her face. _Wow…that felt good. _ "THAT is the proper way to go about it! Write it down!"

With a perfectly formed outline of a hand swelling up across her face, Christine scooted backward across the floor. She unsteadily climbed to her feet and continued to back away. Opening her mouth she screamed for help at the top of her operatic lungs, drawing a few curious onlookers.

Unaffected by the girl's commotion, Brielle waved to the two stagehands at the end of the hall. "Don't worry, it is only a slight rat problem!" she called, cupping her hands over her mouth to be heard over the vicomtesse's howls. Apparently satisfied with this answer, the two men moved on without a word, leaving the two women alone in the hall once again.

Scooping up the music box that started the entire problem, Brielle fisted her free hand on her hip as she looked Christine up and down. The anger that had been boiling within her settled down to a low simmer, satisfied by giving the girl a good slap. Walking past the now silent girl, Brielle casually strolled down the hallway. "Now you will come back with me and apologize to my daughter for taking her Christmas present," she ordered. "Or you will have to live the rest of your life with the added shame of stealing from a child. I am sure there is a special place in hell for people who do such a thing."

For a moment it seemed Christine was going to protest this treatment, but then reluctantly she started forward. Sullenly she followed on Brielle's heels with a delicate hand pressed firmly against her smarting cheek. "This isn't the end of this…" she muttered. "I won't stand for this."

Smiling to herself, feeling strangely at ease, Brielle merely nodded. She no longer felt threatened by the girl's presence at the Opera. Christine's outrageous behavior had shown her just how plainly imperfect the girl actually was, destroying the built-up image of flawless woman she had been carrying about in her mind. _This is real. I can fight this. And I can win._ "Then let the games begin," she said cheerfully. _I can't wait!_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lying flat on his back, looking up at the network of ropes and pulleys hanging above him, Conner closed his eyes tiredly. Flexing his hand to keep it from stiffening up, he let out a satisfied breath. _Well that was a rather good practice. Even with Carlotta storming off. And I rather like the new tenor…he is a very amiable guy. _The whispering sound of approaching feet passed close by his right ear, causing him to open one eye and stare up at Meg's disapproving face.

"Why are you lying on the ground like that? You will get dirty!"

Grinning up at the girl like an idiot, Conner gave a shrug. "Who cares? Clothes can always be washed." Reaching out a hand he tugged playfully at the hem of her skirt. "Come sit with me. Everyone is on break."

"And what could we possibly have to talk about?" she asked, even as she lowered gracefully to sit beside him on the floor. "I doubt we have anything in common at all!"

"That may be…" he replied with a wink. "But I know we have at least one thing in common."

"Oh, and what is that?"

"Dancing…" he said, laughing when a startled expression passed over her face. "I am just teasing you. We have plenty of things in common. We both work here…we both know my sister…"

His silliness had its desired effect when Meg cracked a smile and shook her head. "Those are terrible examples!"

Rolling over so he could prop his chin on his hand, Conner glanced momentarily around at the few remaining performers still in the area. "True…then, let's see…what would be something better? Hmm… Have you ever performed at any other theaters?"

"Oh, no…I have always danced here. I am not good enough to go traveling about."

Grunting, Conner wrinkled his nose. "That isn't true…you are fantastic."

Blinking at the seriousness of his tone, Meg's cheeks turned a deep shade of red. She opened her mouth to say something in response, but stopped when her eyes flickered away from his for a moment. "Oh…no…" she gasped as she jumped to her feet.

Instantly on alert, Conner likewise got to his feet, spotting the reason for Meg's sudden departure. Christine stood off in one of the wings desperately beckoning for Meg to join her. His anxiety instantly deflating, the redhead sighed and took off after Meg. _I thought Madame de Chagny wanted to keep a low profile. Running around near the stage is the worst way of doing that._

As soon as Meg reached her, Christine grabbed the blonde and dragged her behind a curtain. Wondering at all this odd behavior, Conner didn't mind in the least following the two girls behind the curtain. Giving a little wave to Meg to let her know he was there, Conner crossed his arms and stood a few feet behind Christine, escaping her immediate notice.

"Christine…what happened to your face?" Meg asked her friend.

"That wretched woman attacked me! Brielle…or whatever. There is something very odd about her, Meg. She knows things she shouldn't know. And she has Erik's music box! I tried to take it away from her, but she made me give it back after she hit me."

Rolling his eyes, Conner stared at the girl's back in astonishment. _This was the chit that Erik was pining over all those months ago. Lord a' mighty…she must be a half wit if she thought she could start something with Brielle and get away with it._

A cloud passed over Meg's face as she listened to Christine's story. Pulling away from her friend's grasp, Meg began to frown. "Christine…this is the final straw. You stole something from Brielle? Is it a surprise that she took it back!"

"No, but…"

"But nothing. I introduced you to my friends…after you show up without any warning and then you go and act like a crazy person!" Waving a hand in the air, Meg shook her head and brushed past Christine, stalking toward Conner. "If you expected sympathy, you were wrong to come to me. Time to grow up, Christine!" Grabbing hold of Conner's arm, Meg dragged him with her as she stormed off.

"Meg…"

"Shh…Just keep walking or I will start to feel bad," Meg whispered, tightening her grip on Conner's arm. "I hate fighting…but I forgot how strange she can get. I can't believe she actually ran off with something that belonged to Brielle…god…I am mortified!"

"Well, it isn't your fault. You can't control her…"

Smiling slightly then, Meg looked up at Conner, her expression clearing. "You know when you aren't being annoying you are a really nice man," she said, as if she was slightly surprised by this insight.

"Well, thank you," Conner replied, raising a hand to lay over Meg's where it rested in the crook of his arm. He sighed heavily over how right that gesture felt. _Well…hell…now I don't know if I can ever let her go. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Smiling brightly at her own reflection in the mirror of her room, Brielle hardly heard a word Madame Giry was saying in her ear. Christine had apologized quickly enough, and just as quickly had made her escape, leaving Brielle to glow in her small victory. Excitement burned through her body at the renewed sense of vigor she felt. She couldn't wait to see Erik again, to begin the battle for his heart. Somehow now that she had bested Christine she knew that she could do anything if she put her mind to it. _Thank you, Christine…_she thought happily as she raised a hand to the red mark on her face where the vicomtesse had hit her.

"How long have you known about Erik?" Madame Giry asked, raising her voice slightly when it was clear Brielle wasn't really listening.

Shaking herself, Brielle focused on the dance mistress. _Well, I suppose I have been found out, _she thought absently, finding that this didn't upset her as much as she thought it would. _At least it is by someone I can trust. Erik always said how kind Madame Giry was to him._

"Last year, the night the chandelier fell, I found him in the cellars. At that time I didn't know who he was…only that he was hurt and alone. With my brother's help, I took him out of Paris back to my home."

Astonishment had Madame Giry's eyebrows soaring up to her hairline. "He allowed you to care for him? He didn't leave? He stayed in your house willingly? A stranger's house? A _woman's_ house!"

Folding her hands in her lap, Brielle nodded serenely. "At first he didn't have much of a choice. He was so close to death that first night…I didn't sleep a wink because I was certain he would pass on. And even though he was a stranger I didn't want him to die alone."

Coming to sit next to her on the bed, Madame Giry took Brielle's hand in hers. "And then, after he got better?"

"After that he wanted to stay. He helped Aria with her speech and music."

"He…wanted to stay?" Madame Giry repeated slowly, her eyes glued to Brielle's face. "How did you come to be here?"

"He returned to the Opera…and by accident Aria and I came to be here as well. That day you helped me get a job…we really had only wandered in. I actually didn't know he was here then."

Sputtering, Madame Giry turned her eyes to the mirror, unable to voice any other question. "I don't know what to say. From the day I met him, when I helped him come to this place, there was a bitterness in him that I was sure would never allow for…and then, of course, I was sure he had died. My god…I don't know if you even realize what you might have done…he chose to stay…" Raising her free hand to her mouth, Madame Giry cut off abruptly and stood. "I have to go…but perhaps we can talk more later?" the older woman asked, her expression melting in such a way that Brielle was certain that the dance mistress was about to break into tears at any moment.

Still wrapped firmly in her current state of happiness, Brielle watched the older woman hurry out of the room. _My…what will be her reaction when I tell her that I fully intend to marry that stupid man?_ Brielle thought, the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl causing her to double over on the bed, a hand firmly clamped over her mouth. Turning her head slightly, she looked over at where Aria was napping on the other bed, her tiny hands wrapped firmly around her newly returned music box. Evidently the stress of the situation with Christine had worn her out. Not ten minutes after Brielle had forced the vicomtesse to apologize, Aria had flopped onto her bed and drifted off. Looking at her daughter now, Brielle couldn't help but see a little bit of her late husband in the child's sleeping face. _I bet Erik would make beautiful children…_

Slightly embarrassed at the thought, and more than a little thrilled, Brielle jumped up from the bed and began pacing back and forth around the room. All the jubilant energy that was coursing through her made it impossible to sit still. _I wonder where he is right now…off brooding somewhere, most likely. If he had been around earlier, I doubt he would have been able to stay out of my little brawl. He has to be down in his house…_

Tapping her fingers impatiently against the glass of the mirror, Brielle bit her lip in thought. An idea was forming in her head that she knew to be stupid, but couldn't seem to get rid of it. _This place has seven levels of cellars…that is a lot of space to hide in. Though I think he mentioned that he lived in the lowest one. _Sighing, she ran her hand over the stone where she knew the mechanism for the mirror was. _Don't be stupid, Brielle…he hasn't even invited you down there yet…maybe he wouldn't want you to just show up…and you don't even know where you are going. _

Sobering slightly at the prospect of the chilly greeting she knew Erik was capable of, Brielle pursed her lips and looked over her shoulder at Aria. _Stupid…idea…going wandering off in the cellars looking for him. Most likely he will come around soon anyway. _Pushing away from the mirror, she moved to go and sit back onto the bed, but found herself moving to the door and throwing the lock. Returning to the mirror, she paced in front of it for several minutes before reaching up and pressing the hidden mechanism she had seen Erik use to open the mirror. Silently the panel of glass slid open, revealing the darkened passage beyond.

Staring into the darkness, Brielle hesitated. _I have told him that I love him…but I don't think he understood. It is time to clarify things. I know he is anxious about Christine being here…and confused…and I wouldn't help that by blurting everything out…but how can he clearly see the situation if he doesn't know? _Grabbing a nearby lantern, Brielle lit the wick. Setting it on the table, her resolve hardening, she went over to kneel next to Aria.

She gently woke the child, shaking her lightly. "Momma is going to go and look for Erik behind the mirror. Don't let anyone in the door unless it is Meg or Conner. And stay in this room…don't go running around. Understand?"

Nodding sleepily, Aria rubbed at her eyes and turned over. "I understand…I'll t-tell Uncle C-Conner if he comes."

Standing, Brielle snagged the lantern and stepped through the mirror, sliding the glass shut behind her, leaving it open just a crack in case she couldn't figure out how to open it from the inside. Taking a deep breath, trying to quell her unease, Brielle set off down the hallway. Finding a strange comfort in the quiet of the secret passages, the Irishwoman's optimism returned, making her feel lighter as she strolled along the stone-lined corridor. Time passed quickly, for she hardly even felt her feet touching the ground. She followed a series of staircases downward, pausing every once in awhile to gaze over the edge of the handrail into the inky darkness still looming below her small circle of light.

"God…and he can move through this place in the pitch black too," she said to herself lightly as a sudden unexpected wave of dread chilled her bones. Freezing where she stood, she quickly looked around her for any reason for this feeling. Seeing nothing, she tried to discount the all-too-familiar warning bells wailing in her head. _Don't be stupid…I haven't been having nightmares this week. I usually have nightmares if something bad is going to happen…I am just nervous. _

"Just nervous," she repeated aloud, tripping slightly over the next step. Laughing, she shook her head. "Calm down…there isn't anything bad down here that could hurt you. I mean only Erik haunts these passages…nothing can hurt you."

Straightening, she blew the bangs of her dark wig out of her eyes. "Gosh, even with a light I am tripping over myself. I can't imagine doing this in the dark." Putting her foot deliberately on the next step, she continued her descent. "I can just see myself breaking my neck in this…"

The floor below her feet opened up beneath her with a great rumble, the stair she had been standing on disappearing in the blink of an eye. Before she could scream, she was falling down into the darkness, her lantern falling out of her hands to clang down the steps. Tumbling through the black for what seemed like ages, she finally found her voice, and screaming at the top of her lungs Brielle cart-wheeled her arms.

Without warning she plunged into freezing cold water, her scream cut off in mid-breath as she was completely submerged. Floundering up to the surface, Brielle gasped for a breath as she treaded water. "What the hell?"

Trying to remain calm, she swam to the side until her fingers made contact with smooth stone. A moment of numb terror struck her before she was able to push it aside and think. Running her hand along the wall, she began searching for a way out of the water. _The stairs must have been unstable…I will just find a way out of here and…_ Rational thought came to an abrupt end when a loud clanging sound began over her head. Looking up, Brielle tried to see the source of the noise but couldn't see anything. _What is that? _

The clanging grew louder and panic began to take hold. Raising a hand out of the water, Brielle reached upward, toward the metallic ringing. After a moment her fingers brushed along the rough surface of some large metal object. It took only a second for her to realize that the grid-like object was lowering down over her head, pushing her hand downward, pushing _her _downward and into the water. _Oh my god…oh my god…What is this?_

Sucking in a deep breath, Brielle screamed at the top of her lungs, her own frightened voice echoing back to taunt her. Pushing madly against the lowering grate, she fought the panic to try and think of something to do, a plan. Finding her way back to the wall she floundered along its surface until her foot bumped against an underwater pipe. _Yes, maybe this is the key. _Feeling a moment of joy at the discovery, Brielle ducked under the water and felt along the pipe until she found a large slippery wheel. Planting her feet against the wall she gripped the wheel in both hands, sure the moment of her salvation was at hand.

Tensing her entire body, she gave the wheel one great heave, and nothing happened. Trying again she was met with the same results. Bouncing back up to the surface she gasped for breath and went under again, pulling frantically at the wheel. She was just not strong enough.

Returning to the surface again, her hope fading, Brielle felt the grate begin to press down against the top of her head. Tilting her face upward, she began to hyperventilate, screaming between every other breath. _I can't die here…Aria is sleeping upstairs…Erik doesn't even know how I feel…I can't die here!_ Her screams began to sputter as her mouth was pushed below the surface of the water. Gripping the metal bars in her hands, Brielle struggled for breath, wintry cold water bubbling into her mouth.

_I can't die here…I can't die here…I knew this was a stupid idea…I should have known better. _In the distance she thought she heard a muted sound, like the scratch of shoe leather against stone, but the noise of her own garbled breath echoed too loudly in her ears for her to be sure. Pressing her face flush up against the grate, she felt the water washing up and over her cheeks. Filling her lungs one last time, she didn't have time to scream before she was completely submerged.

Floating in the stinging cold darkness, she felt the pressure in her chest begin to build, a burning like nothing she had felt before spreading like fire through her lungs. _I won't die here…I…I won't…_Lights began to dance before her eyes, and suddenly the panic began to fade. _I won't…die. _Closing her eyes, she felt the overpowering need to just breathe in, to give in. _I won't…_

The lights grew in size until she saw nothing else, and then she saw nothing. _I…I…won't………………………………………._


	55. Miracles and Madness

**Hey all. Here is the long awaited relief for my terrible cliffhanger last week. Hope this chapter makes up for the last one! **

**As always Terpsichore314 and her genius editing skills made this chapter possible! Three cheers for her! Hurray! She really can key in on all the things that need fixing! Thanks once again for all your hard work!**

**Oh…and before I forget IHeartPoto did another pic for me of Brielle…a sort of Happy Saint Patrick's day present! So If you want to see it just go to the link below. And take out the spaces as usual. Oh and just as a note…please don't use any of her pics for anything without her permission. (She has been having problems with people doing that) But anyway enjoy! **

http/ i42.photobucket. com/ albums/ e317/ IHeartPOTO/ UGBrielle2. png

**And P.S. the last section of this chapter will have a higher rating. **

Chapter 55: Miracles and Madness

Sitting at his writing desk, Erik leaned forward to blow a small dusting of excess charcoal from the sheet of paper in front of him. Tapping the end of his drawing pencil against the table, he scrutinized the lines and shading of the face he had just finished. _Brielle's face…not Christine's…what does that mean? _ Initially he had sat down to try to clear his mind, to fathom an answer as to what he should do about Christine, but apparently it wasn't working, because everything he drew was of Brielle.

Sighing, Erik tossed his pencil down and raised a hand to scratch at his chin, unknowingly smearing a dark streak of charcoal across his jaw. _The way she looked when she was sleeping…God, I loved that. What would it be like to be able to look at her whenever I wanted? To wake up and see her face every morning…_

Fully in the clutch of another daydream, Erik hardly registered the high-pitched ringing coming from the main room on the lake. After several moments, the sound finally penetrated the fog around his brain. Turning his head sharply, he glared out the door, slightly confused by the jarring noise. When he finally placed the unexpected noise he got moodily to his feet. Walking out into the main room, past the giant pipe organ, he pushed aside a loosely hanging curtain, revealing a row of dusty brass bells. With a curse he watched one of those bells as it swung up and down, the obvious source for the irritating noise.

_I had almost forgotten about these…_he thought belatedly as he read the faded label under the ringing bell. _That is the bell for the water trap. It must be malfunctioning._ Dropping the curtain back into place, Erik stalked over to the boat moored at the small dock on the edge of the lake. _I suppose I will have to go and shut the blasted thing off…_

Rowing off into the darkness, Erik navigated the many waterlogged passages and columned archways with ease. Coming to stop alongside a small staircase that led to a mossy stone landing, the masked man jumped out of his boat and tied it off. Taking up the small lantern that was swinging from the bow of the craft, he set off on foot. He had only made it a few steps when the clanking of chain and gears reached his ears. His stomach dropped clear down to his feet when over the metallic grinding he could barely pick up the gurgling last cries of a human voice. _Someone is actually in there!_

At a breakneck run he raced toward the location of one of his many booby traps. It never crossed his mind that he should hang back, stay hidden, that whoever was caught within his web could eventually turn him in. He could just hear Brielle's voice within his head, acting as his conscience and driving him forward even faster. _I can't hear the screams anymore. Good god…why did I leave all these blasted things in working order? I have other ways of keeping people out…I don't need these stupid machines. If I kill someone…she will never forgive me for it. _

Splashing through several puddles, he rounded a corner with his lantern held high, his eyes skittering over the large dark pool laid out before him. The surface of the water rippled where the large chains operating the grate were lowering slowly, but smoothed out toward the middle. Apparently it had been several minutes since the grate had been submerged, which meant it had been several minutes since the person trapped within the device had been pushed under.

His heart picking up its pace, Erik searched the inky water for any signs of life, any dark shadows that could indicate a body. None appeared and he began to doubt that he had actually heard a person's voice. _Perhaps it was just a malfunction after all,_ he thought hopefully. Turning to set his lantern on the ground next to his feet, he noticed a dark object float quietly up to the surface of the pool. Squinting at the object, Erik moved to pull down on the lever that would pull the grate out of the water. As the chains reversed direction with a squeal, the dark object drifted closer to the landing where the masked man stood. Squatting down to get a closer look at the thing, he cocked his head to one side. _Looks sort of like a dead rat…_he thought absently as he reached over to pluck the thing from the water. As he held up the dark stringy thing in the light, he realized it wasn't a rat at all. _A wig…a black wig?_

A slow sickness rippled through his belly as he stared at the dripping hairpiece. _This looks like…Brielle's wig…_Dropping the thing to the floor he shot upright, his eyes turning instantly to the water, which now seemed threateningly quiet as the grate broke through its surface, climbing slowly up into the air. And as he watched something white bobbed up after the grate, spreading out just under the water like ribbons in the wind. It took less than a second for him to recognize Brielle's distinctive hair color in the black water.

Lurching forward without thought, Erik practically fell down the small staircase leading to the water's edge. Coming to a hasty stop at the bottom of the stairs, he realized, to his growing horror, that the grate had not made it more than half a foot out of the water. Blind with pure animalistic panic, the masked man let out a howl of frustration and grabbed hold of the offending metal with both hands. With a surge of adrenaline, he strained against impossible weight of the portcullis. _Please god…please…she isn't moving…please god!_

Moments passed and nothing happened. Erik felt as if he were trying to lift the Opera itself, so little did the portcullis move. _NO no nonono…_Then suddenly a mournful groan issued from the gears and pulleys as the huge grate began to shift upward at an awkward angle. Every muscle in his body burned, veins jumping out across his forehead, as he dragged the portcullis upward, the chains clanging upward faster in response to the slack he created. With a violent snarl the chains jumped off their pulleys, grinding the whole machine to a sudden stop. Releasing his hold on the edge of the grate, Erik dropped to the ground and shimmied under it, splashing into the waiting water fully dressed.

Hardly registering the freezing temperature of the water as it washed over his body, Erik swam out to the middle of the pool with a panic-driven speed. Grabbing hold of Brielle's shoulder, he flipped her body face up in the water, but she did not take the gasp of air he had hoped she would, she merely floated limply, the small waves of the pool lapping at her still, unflinching face. _She isn't moving…she should be moving. I have to get her out of here._ Keeping that one thought close to his heart, he fought off the numbing dread scratching at the door of his mind. _I have to get her out of here…It will be all right…I have to get her out of here. _Wrapping an arm under her armpits, he dragged her back toward the stairs leading up to the landing, splashing unceremoniously through the water as he struggled against the heaviness of his sodden clothing and Brielle's dead weight.

Finding footing on the first slippery step, Erik clamored up and out of the water, pulling Brielle's body behind him by the back of her collar. Charging up the stairs, he ignored the dizziness fogging his brain, ignored the dryness of his throat as his breath sawed in and out of his lungs, ignored everything but his one unshakable goal. Stopping as soon as he reached the landing Erik finally collapsed on the stone floor. _All right…on dry land now…everything is fine…everything is…_

Only then did he turn to look down at Brielle. She lay utterly still upon the floor, without even the stirring of a breath, her head tilted slightly to one side, looking strangely small now that her normally smiling eyes were shut and her brilliant hair was dulled and plastered against her skin. He recognized this look, the blue lips and pinched skin. He had seen it fixed upon the faces of the men who had died by his hand. _No…this is wrong,_ he thought numbly.

"Brielle?" he said, reaching out a hand to touch her face. Jerking back his hand slightly at the chill emitting from her skin, Erik felt the shocked numbness crack around his heart and the pain came rolling in.

"Brielle!" he called desperately, his voice echoing back from the stone walls, taunting him with its hollow sound. Lurching forward, he grabbed hold of her slight shoulders, shaking her with a violence he couldn't seem to stop. "Brielle! Stop this! Wake up!" Tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, he silently cursed God as the reality of the situation began to sink in. _She is dead…she is dead...this is my fault. I should have protected her better. I should have paid better attention instead of thinking about…about useless things!_

Clenching his fists in the soggy material of her dress, he let out an inhuman howl, the sound ripping from his throat, conveying with it a soul-shattering agony he had never felt before. It felt as if he were dying, as if pieces of his heart were falling away into darkness. _I cannot breathe…it hurts so bad I cannot breathe. This isn't fair…it isn't fair! _Sagging against the weight of the blackness pressing in around him, he lowered his head down to rest his forehead against her shoulder, his hands trembling as his eyes began to burn with bitter tears. It seemed as if every cell in his body cried out, rebelling against the fate which was being thrust upon him.

"Don't do this to me…" he whispered raggedly against Brielle's chilled skin, the tears finally spilling over his cheeks.

Closing his eyes, sobs began to rack his body, making it hard to breathe. Only a few seconds passed, but for him it was an eternity already. In his mind he could picture all the days of his life stretching bleakly out before him, an endless procession of time with no meaning beyond taking another breath, as empty and lifeless as the woman stretched out under his hands. _I cannot do this. I cannot let her go…_

"Please, do not go where I cannot follow…" he pleaded. "Please…do not leave me here alone. I…I love you." Those final three words, words he thought never to say again, slid from his lips with an ease that shocked him, and then he realized, the reason why it was so easy to say was that this agonizing connection was not a surprise, he had felt it all along, maybe from the first moments he had seen her. But now it was all over. _I love her._

"I love you. I love you. I love you," he chanted like a prayer as the anger inside him turned to bitter grief. _Lord, what have I done? It should have been me…you took the wrong…_

Unbidden, an image flashed through his mind, as if heaven sent, of Brielle bent over old Madame Dubois, breathing life back into her apparently dead body. Raising his face from Brielle's chest with a jerk, Erik's eyes skittered unseeingly across the stone wall opposite him as he watched the scene play itself out within his head. And suddenly he could hear Brielle's voice whispering in his ears, the calm in her words comforting him.

"_Even if the heart stops, and a person isn't breathing it is possible for the brain to live on for several minutes. All one has to do is restart the heart…and a person can be saved. Think of how many could be saved."_

The tears leaking from his bloodshot eyes stopped suddenly as a new rush of vitality coursed through his body. _All one has to do is restart the heart!_ Leaning forward, Erik placed his hands on Brielle's chest, just as he had seen Brielle do on Madame Dubois. Pressing down smoothly in several short bursts, he felt her chest give with each movement, and he prayed that he was doing it correctly. Stopping the compressions, he pinched her nose shut and covered her mouth with his, filling her lungs with his breath. Erik continued this ritual over and over again, with the singlemindedness of a desperate man. _Come on…work…come on…I know it can work! This is how she did it. I saw it work. I read her blasted research on it back at the house. I know this can work!_

Minutes ticked by and Erik's arms began to tire, but he refused to stop. If he stopped he knew that he would die with her, buried below the Opera in a tomb of his own making. _This will work…this will work._ Leaning forward to once again press his lips to hers, Erik closed his eyes. "Breathe, you damnable woman. Do as I say for once in your lif…"

And before he could finish his sentence the impossible happened. Brielle sucked in a pained gasp of air. Freezing where he was, almost afraid to move and disrupt the delicate balance of the moment, Erik watched as her chest rose again, filling with air without any aid. The corner of her mouth twitched into a weak grimace as a series of violent coughs shook her body, expelling the water which had settled into her lungs. Slowly, as if with a great effort, her eyes flickered open, searching the ceiling above her head. Erik must have made a small shocked sound because Brielle blinked then focused in on his face. A moment of recognition passed behind her eyes before she slipped once again into unconsciousness.

The grayness of her skin faded, though she still looked far too pale, and with the color returning to her face, Erik could feel his life returning to him. Raising a hand to his face in disbelief, the masked man stared down at her in utter astonishment. Looking upward, he then did something he hadn't done since he was a very small child. He thanked God.

Reaching out a hesitant hand, afraid to touch her lest she disappear, Erik gently brushed her clinging hair from her cheeks. It was then that the chill of the stone under his knees began to sink in through relief weighing down his body. Shivering in his wet clothes he looked away from Brielle's unconscious face, finally noticing the dankness of their surroundings. _I have to get her warm…immediately. _Leaning forward, he slid his arms under her, holding her close as he stood. Walking over to where he had set his lantern, he bent awkwardly and plucked the light up from the ground. Making quick tracks back toward his waiting boat, Erik gently laid Brielle into the bottom of the small craft. Taking up a position near the back, he stowed away the paddles in favor of the long guiding pole lying along the boat's bottom. He didn't want to subject her to the quick jerking that rowing would create.

Guiding the boat back through the labyrinth of columns, he soon saw a glimmer of welcoming light from his underground home. Relaxing his tensed body, he let out a breath and glanced down at Brielle for the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes, still unwilling to let her be out of his sight for more than a few seconds. Pulling up to the small dock in front of his organ room, the masked man climbed out and tied off the boat. Then, carefully balancing himself, he reached down and picked Brielle up and out of the boat. Turning, he quickly made his way toward the hallway, already setting out in his head a plan of the things he had to do. _Obviously I need to light the stove…gather extra blankets…but her clothes…she can't stay in sopping wet clothes…but what can I get her to wear?_ Faced with this daunting thought he hesitated slightly at the mouth of the hall, as he glanced back and forth between Christine's old room and his own. _I cannot put her in my room…surely…_

Shaking his head with a growl, Erik strode forward and pushed the door to Christine's old room open. _Grow up, Erik…it is going to be Brielle's room now. What is wrong with you, worrying about idiotic things when Brielle just practically died!_ Refocusing his mind on the tasks at hand, Erik walked over to the bed, and setting Brielle gently on the floor, he carefully went about removing her wet clothing. _Good God…I had no idea women wore so many blasted layers!_ Throwing the drenched cloth to the side, he stripped her down to her underthings, and averting his eyes as best he could, he pulled off her last remaining layers and lifted her into the waiting bed. Covering her up quickly, Erik rushed over to the gas stove in the corner of the room. Lighting the stove, he turned and gathered up Brielle's wet clothes from the floor. Hesitating at the door, he found himself unwilling to leave her alone, if only for a moment. Sighing, he stepped away from the door, laying her clothes out in front of the stove before returning to the bedside. Pulling up a chair he sat down, watching her carefully as she lay quietly breathing under the mountain of covers.

Having a moment to sit still, without there being any present danger, Erik had the time to reflect over what had happened and the revelations which had dawned on him. _That was far too close. She could be gone right now. And it is all my fault. If I hadn't built that stupid machine in the first place! _Reaching out, he laid a hand on the bed beside her, wanting to feel the movement of the blankets from her breath to reassure himself that it all wasn't just a dream, that she was really safe. Shivering slightly in his wet clothes, as the adrenaline faded, Erik pulled back then and raised both hands to his face.

It was only at that moment that he realized that his mask was no longer covering the right side of his face. Sometime during his panicky rescue it had become lost in the dark water. _And I didn't even notice._ For the first time in his life something had become more important than covering his face. Brielle had become more important. _What do I do now? _he thought dejectedly as he ran trembling fingers over the sunken crevices and mismatched ridges which made up his deformity. _Loving her could ruin everything…but I know even if I tried I couldn't stop…and I know I can't stay away from her either. _Lowering his arms to his sides tiredly, Erik closed his eyes. _This will just have to be my burden to bear. I will not tempt the powers that be to ask for anything more. Her life is enough…having her near will be enough…it will have to be. _

Cringing at this thought, Erik let out a bitter burst of laughter looking over at Brielle's still form. Leaning forward, he stretched out a hand to brush the tips of his fingers over her soft cheek. _Having her near will be enough…but…I think I will live for moments like this. Moments when I can pretend I was born a normal man…that she is mine…_ Rising from the chair slightly, he brought his face close to hers, his eyes warily watching hers. _Moments like these…_ Steeling himself for a life lived in this manner, he closed his eyes and gently pressed his mouth against Brielle's. Locking the feel of her away into his mind, he sat back in his chair, and silently stood sentinel over her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Brielle slowly drifted closer to consciousness, coming out of a strange dream about a toy monkey and a boy in a cage. But as she became more aware of the warmth of the blankets around her and the smell of burnt candle wax she began to feel the pressing weight of her own body. She felt so heavy and sluggish that it was hard to breathe and it ached to move even in the smallest way. Trying to open her eyes, she caught a glimpse of candlelight flickering over a cloth covered ceiling, but found that the effort was just too great to sustain as her eyes drifted shut once again. She lay quietly, too tired to try moving again but unable to find oblivion in unconsciousness, and so she heard very clearly the sound of voices drifting through the air from somewhere outside of the room.

"Conner, she needs a doctor. It has been two days and she has only opened her eyes once! That could mean that there has been some sort of damage. I have read of people living through a drowning only to never wake up from their sleep. I need some help…I am losing my mind down here. I don't know what to do!" Erik's voice exclaimed, his normally smooth tenor ragged with emotion.

"You cannot bring anyone else down here, Erik. You know that. If you do you can be sure that you will end up in jail before the day is out," Conner replied, obviously trying to keep his tone even, though it was clear that he was just as worried.

"I don't care!" Erik exploded. "Do you think I care about that? I almost lost her once…I am not willing to ever allow such a thing to happen again. If that means I must give up my freedom then that is a price I am willing to pay."

"For God's sake, settle down, you crazy bastard. Saying shit like that is a sure way of sending Bri to her maker. If she has heard you talking like that all this time, then no wonder she hasn't been getting better. She wouldn't want you to do that…"

"Then tell me what to do. I cannot move her. The journey to the surface might kill her. The bleeding air is so god damned cold I am surprised you didn't die on the way down here. I can at least make sure she is warm here. But there is no access to more medical attention! I had to wait until now to even leave long enough to go and fetch you. I was so sure she would be dead when we came back but I didn't know what other option I had."

"It is all right…you did the right thing in coming for me. At least now I can make her excuses to everyone. Yesterday when no one could find her, Carlotta went insane. She actually was driven to tears, she was so worried. And Meg was about to go to the police. She was certain Andrew had come and kidnapped Bri."

"And what of Aria…she must have been so scared being alone for so long," Erik said, his tone quieting.

"Actually, she was the least worried. She came to my room two nights ago saying as how Brielle had gone to visit you for awhile. But then again, she always seems to know what is going on before it does." There was a slight pause and the sound of two pairs of footsteps approaching Brielle's room. "She will be fine here," Conner stated from somewhere near the foot of the bed. "After all…what doctor could care for her more than you? You know what to do…you are the god damned genius after all. Just believe that you can make her better. I am sure she would believe in you…so just believe in yourself."

Erik made a soft snorting sound in reply, but Conner seemed to ignore him. "I cannot stay much longer…but I think I can find my way back. I will handle things above ground, so don't worry about that…just worry about her. And stop thinking about doing something stupid. I swear when I think that…"

Sighing, Brielle felt herself falling backward into the waiting darkness of exhausted sleep. Conner and Erik's voices faded into silence, and Brielle felt the weight of her own limbs lift. Relieved to be set free she didn't fight the descent but welcomed it. There wasn't much time to think over the conversation that she had overheard before a dream rolled in over her mind.

First, color began to bleed into the darkness inside her sleeping mind, then fuzzy images began to flicker into focus. A drab yellow tent rose up before her mind's eye, accompanied by the sound of brassy calliope music. As she approached the tent flap, she began to realize just how large the structure was. In fact, everything seemed oversized. And when people began filing out of the tent they seemed giants to Brielle. She stared up at them in disbelief as they walked past her, all of them laughing and discussing the _thing_ they had just seen inside the tent. No one noticed her presence.

Her heart picking up its pace, she clutched the soft stuffed animal in her arms closer to her chest. _Momma isn't here either…_ The childishly worried thought rose up in her mind, seeming both alien and familiar at once. Hesitating slightly, she found herself moving to the opening on the tent, fear freezing her blood as she searched the darkness within for the creature the people had been speaking of. But as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, it was not a monster that she saw. Rather an iron cage loomed out of the darkness, appearing empty at first until Brielle squinted closer. The hunched figure of a boy rose up from the ground as he searched the straw within his prison for something.

Her fear dissipating, Brielle stepped into the tent, feeling a strange pull toward that cage, and that boy. _Why is that boy in a cage? Did the monster put him there? _Her foot clumsily kicked a pebble as she moved forward, creating a skittering sound that had the older boy jerking around to glare at her with eyes the color of a winter sky. Pausing slightly, Brielle raised her thumb to her mouth. _He looks afraid…I bet that monster did put him in there._ Pattering forward she came right up next to the giant-sized cage, the top of her head barely even reaching its floor. Spotting a nearby bucket, she climbed atop it, grabbing hold of the cold iron bars for support. Peering into the cage, she noticed that the boy had backed away from her, pressing himself against the far side of the cage, his sharp bright eyes glowering from beneath a mop of wild dark hair. He raised his chin defiantly, moving his face purposely out of the shadows, watching her as she caught sight of the misshapen horror dominating the right side of his dirty face. Staring at him unblinkingly, she studied his uneven features as she would anything she had never seen before. Removing her thumb from her mouth she gave a little shrug, deciding that he looked sort of like some of the African masks her Da had hanging on the wall in their home.

Looking slightly confused, the boy said something to her she didn't understand. _I wonder why he is talking so funny…like he is talking through his nose. _When he repeated the phrase, looking more and more uncomfortable when she only stared back at him, Brielle frowned. _No wonder he doesn't know how to talk right. He has no one in there to talk to. I bet that monster is scary too…_ Looking down at the small gray monkey in her arms, Brielle had a brilliant idea. Plopping the monkey onto the floor of the cage, she pushed her favorite toy through the bars. _Now he can have a friend…_ she thought without regret. Somehow she knew she would be getting it back one day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Opening her eyes slowly, Brielle gazed up at the ceiling above her. The strangely mismatched cloth that covered it no longer seemed as unfamiliar. Many times she had woken up to this very same sight, though had anyone asked her she would have had no idea how much time had passed. There was no noticeable change to mark the hours passing here. The room was devoid of windows, allowing no sunlight in. Only the constant flickering of candlelight chased away the shadows. _I had that dream again…what in the world could it mean?_

Turning her head to the side, she realized dazedly that movement wasn't as trying as it once had been. Testing this new discovery, she carefully raised herself up into a sitting position, looking around her surroundings in confusion. The furnishings of the room were of a decidedly feminine bent, but the walls exhibited the same strange coverings as the ceiling. _That piece there almost looks like an old backdrop…_ Feeling a sudden draft, Brielle glanced down at herself and was shocked to discover that she was sitting there without a stitch of clothing on. Grabbing hold of the covers she pulled them up to her chin in horror. _Where the bloody hell am I!_

Driven by a growing sense of confusion and unease, she threw her legs over the edge of the bed. Touching her bare feet to the carpeted floor, she carefully eased her weight onto them. Still clutching a sheet to her chest, she wrapped the cloth about her toga style before attempting to stand. It took her three tries before she was able to gain her footing. Leaning heavily against the wall, she took several careful steps away from the bed. Passing a mirror hanging upon the wall, she couldn't help but catch sight of her bleached out visage. Pausing to frown at herself, she noticed the dark circles around her eyes and the sickly pallor of her skin. _Good god…what has happened? _

Thinking hard, she tried to sort through her muddled mind to find the answer to this question. _I remember fighting with Christine…then going to look for Erik to tell him how I felt…then…_ Closing her eyes, Brielle struggled for the gauzy memory. _I fell…into water and something came down…pushing me under…and then…then…then there was that strange dream about the boy in the cage. _Sagging against the wall, Brielle turned away from the mirror. _Why would Erik have something like that water trap down here…stupid man…_

At the thought of the masked man, Brielle began walking forward once more, steadily making her way around the room until she made it to the door. Turning the knob quietly, she stuck her head out into a dim hall. Seeing no one, she stepped out of her room, making sure to keep the sheet secure around her chest as she walked unsteadily down the hall toward an open area at its end. Moving until she stood at the end of the hall, Brielle gathered her courage and peeked around the corner, not knowing what she expected to see. The room was large and open, leading off on one side to what appeared to be a dark lake. Gas lamps along the walls and hundreds of candles lit the area as brightly as daylight, fighting off the dimness with the force of their glow. To one side, a large pipe organ squatted next to the wall, its size overpowering the area until Brielle could look at nothing else.

And as she continued to stare at the instrument, she realized that there was a man seated at the organ, leaning forward with his head resting upon the wooden panel that was pulled closed to protect the keys. It took less than a second for her to recognize the strong slope of the shoulders and the dark hair as belonging to Erik. Relieved to have finally found something familiar, Brielle wobbled toward where Erik was sleeping hunched over the organ. _He looks tired…normally he wouldn't just fall asleep sitting up like that. He hardly ever does anything without doing it purposely. _

Opening her mouth to call his name, Brielle shut it again when Erik sat bolt upright on the bench. Swiveling his head slightly to the side, it seemed almost as if he were listening for something. _Did I make a sound?_ Turning to look over his shoulder, Erik caught sight of her leaned against the wall. Instantly he jerked his head around to look straight ahead, reaching forward for the mask that was lying atop the organ in front of him. But just as his fingers brushed the hardened leather of the mask, he hesitated and then dropped his hand back to his side, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as if he were silently preparing for some great feat. Raising a hand to his face, his entire body began to shake, a light tremor working its way over his shoulders and down his arms. Even his bare feet shook against the floor as he let out a great sigh.

"You are awake…" he finally said, those three words holding within them the deepest tone of relief Brielle had ever heard. Clearing his throat, he turned once again on the bench, tilting his head in such a way as to throw the uncovered right side of his face into shadow. "For a while there I wasn't sure you would."

_Was it that bad? Was I really that close? Obviously Erik must have saved me…if it wasn't for him would I have died?_ Feeling suddenly drained, Brielle sagged against the wall. Alarmed by her sign of weakness, Erik jumped to his feet so quickly that he knocked over the piano bench. He was at her side before she had the chance to slide to the floor. Wrapping an arm about her waist, he easily lifted her up, supporting her as he led her over to a small table where he eased her into one of the chairs.

"You shouldn't be walking around," he chided softly. "I _knew_ I should have stayed in there with you."

"I didn't know where I was…" Brielle murmured in response, feeling increasingly embarrassed the longer she was in Erik's presence. Closing her eyes, she tried to gather her thoughts. _God, I look like the walking dead...and covered in a sheet no less! _

"No, of course you didn't…this is where I live. We are below the Opera now."

"Really? Well I suppose that explains why there aren't any windows," she said lightly, trying to distract from how disadvantaged she felt and from how strangely quiet Erik was. _He must have been terribly worried. God! What a rotten thing to happen just when I wanted to tell him how I felt. Right now I don't think I have the strength to. Now I will have to wait…_

A silence stretched out between them then and Brielle could feel the intense scrutiny of his eyes upon her. "You saved me, didn't you? Thank you."

"Do not thank me. It is my fault that you were in danger in the first place. That blasted machine could have killed you! And I allowed it to remain in operation all this time!" he practically shouted, the self hatred in his voice sending shivers of alarm down Brielle's spine.

Opening her eyes, she looked up at where he stood over her. The protest she had been about to voice died in her mouth as she stared up at Erik's uncovered face. She heard a small shocked gasp gurgle up the back of her throat but found that she couldn't stop the sound. Erik stilled at her exclamation, closing his mouth with a click. Adopting an entirely new set of body movements, he lowered his eyes to the floor, sloping his shoulders upward in a defensive movement. It looked like he was preparing for a blow.

For a moment, all Brielle could see was the deformity standing before her. Erik's right cheekbone sat about an inch higher than his left, protruding out of the natural plane of his face at a sharp angle, creating dips and valleys that did not belong on a human face. It looked almost like someone had taken a shovel and smashed it across his head, throwing off the symmetry of his face. She could see why the rumors about him had compared his looks to that of a skull; the unnatural bone structure created a deep recess around his eye, making it appear to be the dark eye socket of a skeleton. And the skin on the right side of his face only added to this skull-like quality. Pale yellow like old candle wax, his skin stretched over his face, appearing so painfully thin that along his forehead a spider web of tiny pulsing veins could clearly be seen.

But after a few tense moments the shock of seeing what until that moment had remained hidden, Brielle found that the deformity faded from her focus, leaving Erik's familiar features in its place. And the longer she looked up at him, the more she began to feel as if she had seen that face somewhere before. Frowning in confusion, she realized with a start that Erik's face exactly matched the distorted features of the boy in her dreams. _That wasn't a dream…that was a memory! I was actually there…the reason why everything was so large is because I was so small. We have met before!_

"It was you…" she breathed, without realizing she had opened her mouth. "It was you."

Obviously not expecting this rather awed expression of recognition that Brielle knew was plastered all over her face, Erik's uncertain shell cracked. "What?"

"While I was sleeping I dreamed of a boy. There was a cage in an old yellow tent…I think it must have been a fair or something because I can remember the music and the crowds of people. But when I went into the tent I saw a boy in that cage…and his face…his face…"

"His face was my face…" Erik whispered, slowly taking a step forward to sink into a chair across from hers, his eyes never leaving her face. No longer did he seem to be waiting for her to scream at the sight of him, and as the seconds passed his body language returned to his normal commanding bearing. "And you were the girl…the little girl who pushed her toy through the bars."

Smiling weakly, Brielle felt elation bubble up through her blood, momentarily making her forget just how tired she felt. Reaching out a hand she took hold of his, needing to feel the touch of his skin against hers to reassure herself she wasn't still dreaming. "Yes…that is exactly how it happened. In my dream…well…my memory really…I gave it to you so you wouldn't be afraid of the monster in the tent."

Tilting his head slightly to the side in confusion, Erik squeezed her hand. "A monster in the tent? No one lived there but me."

"But I heard some of the people coming out of the tent say something about the monster's something…I can't really recall…it is sort of fuzzy. I couldn't really understand what many of them were saying."

"You probably didn't know French at that age," he replied. "But the monster…they used to call me the devil's child…or the monster child."

"The monster was you!"

"Yes."

"That is terrible…I didn't realize…" Falling into stillness then, Brielle felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "And here I thought I was giving you protection against something else…and it was YOU they were all afraid of. I guess you didn't need that silly monkey after all."

Picking up on her smile, Erik's expression likewise lightened. "Even as a toddler you were trying to protect people. Little did you know that years later you would still be giving me gifts to keep me safe." Looking down he ran a finger under his collar, pulling upon the silver chain he wore under his shirt and the Saint Jude attached to it.

"You wear that? I thought you said you didn't believe in that sort of thing."

"I don't…or didn't anyway," he said with a shrug. "But you gave it to me…so I made an exception." As he watched her blush with pleasure his perfectly sculpted lip pulled back into a grin, one corner of his mouth riding higher than the other due to the uneven pull of his skin. Brielle found the crookedness of his smile strangely appealing. But as she continued to stare at him, Erik soon began to squirm under her soft gaze, obviously remembering he was without the protection of his mask, and still not completely comfortable with that knowledge.

"I still have that monkey, you know…" he said finally as he eased his hand out of hers and stood. Turning, he quickly strode over to the organ and retrieved the mask lying there. Donning the covering, he seemed to let out a pent-up breath. "Now I should really be getting you back into bed…"

Even before those words had died in the air, they both realized just how suggestive that simple statement seemed. Brielle raised an eyebrow in question as Erik colored in embarrassment. "Er…rather…I meant that you still need rest…and uh…" As he sputtered out the self-conscious explanation, his eyes strayed downward to her bare shoulders and to the spot where the sheet was wrapped tightly around her chest, and closing his eyes as if with a great effort he clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides.

Sensing some great battle going on behind the sudden stiffness of his expression, Brielle didn't push her advantage. _This is no time to play on his weaknesses…too much has happened…but I won't give up. _"I know what you meant," she finally said, keeping her voice kind to ease his discomfort. _How strange this must be for him. He is so used to being alone down here…_

Nodding silently at that, Erik came forward and helped her to her feet, assisting her down the hall and into her room. "There should be clothes in the dresser," he said with averted eyes as she climbed back into bed.

"Thank you…" Brielle said on a sigh as she sank down against the pillows. _I suppose I was more tired than I thought._ Closing her eyes, she felt Erik pulling the covers up and over her exhausted body. "Don't let me sleep too long…" she said vaguely, already slipping into sleep, missing any comment Erik might have said in reply.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Five days later, Brielle sat comfortably in a chair in the main room of Erik's underground home, a book open in her hands. Erik had ventured up to the library the day after she woke up, bringing back with him more than a dozen volumes he thought she would be interested in. But after days of resting and only moderate activity, Brielle could honestly say she was sick and tired of staring at a book, and even conversing with Erik had taken on a muted tone. He seemed to be unusually guarded around her as of late, his caution and never ending kindness creating an oddly electrifying tension between them. One moment he lavished gentle attention on her but then the next pulled that affection back behind newly erected walls, nearly driving her mad with from the inconsistency. Sometimes she became so frustrated that she just wanted to grab him and tear his clothes off, even though such an action was completely inappropriate. _And send me to hell in a hand basket…what am I thinking?_ And so they circled each other on a daily basis, tensed and wary, like a couple of strange cats in an alley.

Looking over the top of her book at the man in question, Brielle studied his back with narrowed eyes. _I can understand that he has suffered a great worry…I mean he brought me back from the brink of death…but I can't help but feel a little lost now that he is drawn inward. _As if sensing her scrutiny, Erik turned on the organ bench and gave her a smile. Embarrassed by being caught staring at him, Brielle ducked behind her book, an excited sort of tingle sparking within her abdomen. _God…that man can turn me to water with just one blasted look. _

"Did you need something?" Erik asked politely.

"No, I don't need anything," she said on an annoyed sigh. Nodding at her answer, Erik turned his back on her again, going back to scribbling on a sheet of paper propped up on the organ. Glaring at his back, Brielle felt her annoyance begin to rise. _Stupid man with his stupid politeness…and stupid me for not telling him yet._ "What are you doing over there?"

"Writing…"

"Yes, I can see that! What are you writing?" Setting his pen down, Erik turned again and looked back at her. For a moment Brielle thought she saw a powerful emotion flicker behind his eyes before it was tamped down. A shiver ran up her spine at the sight, making her acutely aware of every inch of her body.

Clearing his throat, he picked up the top sheet of paper and blew on it to dry the ink. "I am just writing out a few melodies I have had in my mind."

Sitting up straighter, Brielle set her book aside. "Why aren't you playing any?"

"I did not want to pester you."

"That is ridiculous. You know I always loved to hear you play."

Shifting uncomfortably, Erik looked away. "I thought you could use the quiet…besides…not all music is appropriate to play just at any time."

Rolling her eyes, Brielle got to her feet and crossed the room. With a shooing motion, she forced Erik to scoot down on the bench before taking a seat next to him. "Stop being obnoxious, Erik…I am going crazy from all this quiet. A little music would do me some good, I think. Will you play something for me?"

Glaring daggers, the masked man leaned his body away from hers, being overly careful to keep an inch of separation between them. "I don't think…"

Reaching out to lay her hand on his arm, Brielle flashed a winning smile his way. "Please…play something. I will beg if you like."

Gaping wide-eyed at her, he glanced down at her hand on his arm, then back up to her face. Focusing momentarily upon her smiling mouth, his breath caught in his throat. Nodding vaguely, his gaze still tracing the outline of her lips, Erik took an exaggerated swallow. "All right then…I suppose it…er…couldn't hurt anything."

Caught up in the chains his eyes were wrapping around her Brielle shifted on the bench, moving towards him without conscious knowledge of doing so. Her mind went blank as her face began to burn a lively pink. For a moment she was sure she would die if he didn't lean down and kiss her, ending this unbearable torment of waiting and not knowing. But in the end he did nothing, and the moment came to an end, leaving Brielle shaken and frustrated.

Breaking the sizzling touch of his gaze by looking down at the keys, Erik raised shaking hands up to hover over the ivory. He brought his fingers down to strike the first key a little unsteadily, but as he grew more comfortable, he began caressing the notes out of the organ as a lover might, slowly, gently even. Brielle had seen this touch before, when he stroked the horses in the stables into calm submission. Watching him play only reminded her of the way those long, elegant hands might feel smoothing over her own body.

He was playing some safe boring melody, something light, but despite this the longer he drew the song out of the instrument, like a magician drawing a rabbit out of a hat, the more intensely Brielle began to feel the longing roaring deep within her gut. _Just being near him…living down here with him…God I can't stand it! _After only a few minutes of him playing, Brielle shot out a hand and laid it over his, desperate to still those wonderful hands as she felt a dangerous desire flood her brain. _I cannot take it any longer…I love him so much sometimes I think I will die from it. _

He turned his head slightly to look down at her in question, but the confusion died in his eyes when he caught sight of her flushed expression. His entire body stiffened and he tried to look away then, but Brielle grabbed his arm in a white-knuckled grip. "Don't look away…"

Trying to pry his arm out of her grip, a muscle began to flex along his clenched jaw. "Brielle, I think you should go to your room," he ground out through clenched teeth. "And…lock the door," he added after a slight pause.

Refusing to let him go, Brielle didn't move an inch. "Why…the only person down here is you?" she challenged.

Jumping to his feet, Erik broke free from her and backed away. "Exactly!" he shouted. "Please, Brielle…go to your room…or I don't know what I might do."

Likewise jumping to her feet, Brielle followed him across the room. "You are driving me crazy, you stupid man!" she screamed, marching up to him until she was close enough to shake a finger under his nose.

"Stupid?" he sputtered, outrage rather than desperation sharpening his gaze as he dared to bring his eyes back up to her face.

"Yes, you are the stupidest man I have ever met!" she shouted, raising both hands up to pull at her hair in frustration. "What do I have to do to get you to kiss me, you blasted idiot!"

Opening his mouth to retort angrily, Erik snapped it shut again as he realized what she had said. Looking like he had been punched in the stomach, he ran up against the table, stopping his backward retreat. "What? I am sorry…I didn't catch that."

"You know damn well what I said! But if you like I can repeat it in five different languages," the Irishwoman snapped, coming to stand so close to him that her skirts brushed against the hem of his pant legs. "I have been trying to drop hints here and there…but now you have gone and forced me to approach the situation a little more aggressively! I know I shouldn't but I also know that if I don't we will be stuck here forever, dancing around each other until we both die of old age! I am tired of waiting…"

"No…wait…you are confused. You just said you wanted me to kiss you."

"I am not confused…"

His expression darkening quickly, Erik held out a hand to ward her off. "I think your accident has damaged your brain after all. For God's sake, Brielle…you have seen my face…that is why I…er…"

"Is that why you showed me what you look like? To remind me how ugly you are…to remind me to keep my distance?" she asked quietly, easing forward just the tiniest bit more in order to run a finger along the edge of his lapel. "Because I think you failed your purpose…because it only strengthened my resolve. It made me realize that I have been waiting for you my entire life. That we didn't just meet because of happenstance. Don't you wonder why it was me that day at the fair…and why it was me who found you below the Opera? Perhaps all along God was trying to show us the way to each other."

Wrapping her hand around the loose material of his jacket lapel, she gave him a sharp tug. Raising both his hands to hers, Erik made one last ditch effort to push her away. "Brielle…stop this…you cannot mean to…I have made my peace with my lot in life…I wouldn't dream to…to…"

Distracted by the feeling of her fingers brushing gently over his thumb, Erik never finished what he had been about to say. His grip on her hands loosened and then dropped away completely. Freed at last, Brielle pulled upon his jacket, rising up onto her toes at the same time to brush her lips against his. He went completely still at the slight touch then leaned into her mouth, the fight leaving him on a moan as he raised his hands to either side of her face. It was at that moment she knew that he was just as consumed as she.

Tilting her head back she surrendered to the drug-like desires swirling through her body, pushing away all the questions and worries until none remained. She could forget about everything but the delicious churning that burned through her blood and the feel of his mouth on hers. _This is what I want…This is what I have been waiting for… _It felt just as she had wanted it to, dreamed it would, heady, overpowering even.

The press of his mouth against hers was gentle, uncertain even, at first, but that changed quickly enough. The hands capturing either side of her face slid back to tangle firmly in her loose hair, changing the entire mood of their embrace. In an instant all the emotion that had been building between them for the last year boiled to the surface with a violence that set the very air on fire.

Hot and hungry now, Erik matched her every movement, with a zeal that surprised her. Tugging her hair he drew her head back, ravishing her lips like a man possessed. Gasping at the slight pain from his roughness Brielle nipped his bottom lip in retaliation, her action spurring him on as she knew it would. Throwing her arms about his neck she practically leapt into the embrace until their bodies were pressed flush against each other. The table behind him jostled as their combined weight bumped it, sending a candle holder toppling to the floor with a clatter.

Breaking apart at the sound, both Brielle and Erik glared at the guttering candles before turning dazed eyes toward each other, their chests rising and falling as if they had been running for miles. Leaning her head against his chest, Brielle let out a laugh, one hand daring to smooth up and under the heavy material of his jacket. Erik stopped her wandering fingers with a bruising grip, his cornflower blue eyes dark and heavy with longing.

"Brielle," he growled, "What are we doing?"

"What we should have done months and months ago," she shot back, her voice low and certain as she traced a finger along the hollow of his neck along the line where his pulse thundered just under his skin.

"But I do not know what I am doing…I have never…I mean, I have read but…"

"You are an artist, Erik…use your imagination and improvise," she murmured as her lips followed the line her finger had trailed seconds ago, tasting the warmth and salt of his skin.

"This isn't real…I have to be dreaming," he gasped aloud as she began nibbling his left earlobe.

Biting down a little harder, she caused him to jump. "Try and tell me that wasn't real," she said defiantly.

A wild light flickered to life in his eyes, growing with every second as he stood staring at her until he reached forward and crushed his mouth to hers. Returning the ferocity of his touch she gave in to the blind passion rushing through her. The table jumped again as they rammed into it, nearly overturning the piece of furniture, but this time neither one of them noticed. Jerking upon his jacket, Brielle worked to remove the article of clothing even as they stumbled away from the rickety support of the table to wheel about the room blindly.

When his mouth left hers, Brielle would have protested, but the sound turned to a moan when his lips traveled down her throat, copying what she had done to him moments ago. Caught up in every motion, every sensation, Brielle hardly noticed that they had staggered their way out of the organ room and into the hall. Falling back heavily against the wall, Erik grunted against her searching lips. Quickly switching their positions, Erik pressed Brielle against the wall, their hips grinding intimately against one another. Feeling the growing evidence of his desire against her hip, Brielle felt a fierce smile break across her face. Wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself, she leapt up and wrapped her legs around his waist.

"I think now would be the perfect time for you to put me to bed," she murmured against his ear, pitching her voice low as she breathed in his clean dangerous scent.

He burst out laughing at that, as if he could not believe she had used his own awkward words back against him. Leaning forward she kissed along the curve of his smile as his arm came around her waist to support her. Holding her up with one arm he turned and staggered down the hallway, nearly falling through the open door of Brielle's room. Kicking the door shut behind him, Erik lost his balance and tilting dangerously forward, he stumbled across the room until they both fell onto the bed. Catching her breath for a moment, Brielle felt Erik roll onto his hands and knees and crawl to where she lay, half dazed. Smiling up at him, she closed her eyes as he ran a finger reverently along her cheek, loving the sudden slowing of the pace like the calm in the eye of a storm.

Sitting up into a crouching position, she reached out and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. Her eyes rising to meet his after popping the last button free she slid her hands under the white cloth to smooth it from his shoulders. He shuddered where her fingers touched flesh, the hard, lean lines of his torso shivering helplessly, and it occurred to her that perhaps this was the first time another human being had touched his bare body without inflicting pain. Knowing that only gave the meaning of every touch more meaning. Tossing the shirt to the floor Brielle leaned forward and trailed her lips along his collar bone, sitting back only when his trembling lessened and a flush warmed his skin. Erik looked to her then with a dark frown, his eyes moving over the button free front of her dress with a growing desperation. Laughing at his intense concentration she raised a hand to gather her loose hair to the side turning her back to him, pointing out the buttons traveling down her back.

Relief flooded his face as his nimble fingers raced down her spine, undoing the buttons with lightning speed. "For a man who has never undressed a woman before, Erik, you are making fast work of those buttons." Brielle teased breathlessly as Erik popped the last button from its stay.

Kissing her shoulder blade as he helped push the dress from her shoulders, just as he had seen her do, he made a low humming sound deep in his throat. Feeling the vibration of the sound along her spine, Brielle shivered with delight as she kicked off her dress. Reaching behind her back, she jerked on her corset tie, snatching at the laces until the uncomfortable thing was loose enough to slip off, the petticoats were soon to follow when Erik undid the bows keeping them up.

Though they moved slower now, the heat beating within Brielle's body did not cool, if anything his gentleness and uncertainty only stoked the building ache within her. Reaching out for him they rolled across the bed exploring newly exposed skin with wandering, feverish hands. Winding up under him she found her body straining towards his every touch. His weight, that hard, firm press of his body, felt so right resting against her that she wondered at the reasons it had taken them so long to come to this point. All of a sudden the reasons for staying away from him seemed obsolete.

Feeling the flutter of his pulse against her own Brielle teased his nipple with her tongue, loving his surprised intake of breath in reaction to her, as he sneaked a hand up and under her chemise, traveling over the sensitive skin of her belly with his amazing delicate fingers. His hand balled in the material before pulling it up and over her head, too lost in the feel of her to hesitate, his shyness evaporating as a sheen of sweat broke out over their bodies. Knowing that she should feel some sense of bashfulness, Brielle waited for it to descend upon her, but the moment never came, not even when Erik froze all his attentions to gape at her bare chest. Somehow the disappearance of his hesitation inspired her to follow suit and feel of his skin against hers was just too right for embarrassment to come. Never in her life had she felt more attuned to the movements and needs of another person, learning from him as he did from her.

In the blink of an eye her pantalets were also gone, slipping to the floor before she had even realized that the tie was loosening. She heard Erik suck in a sharp breath as his eyes traveled down over the curves of her body, an expression of stunned awe pulling his mouth open as his hands followed the trails of his eyes, touching her skin as if he were handling a sacred object. Finally branching out from merely following her more experienced lead Erik began to fulfill his own curiosity, running a hand slowly up her inner thigh until he had her moaning his name.

Luxuriating in the exploration of his hands,****Brielle trailed her hands down his back, over the many raised scars there, until she reached the barrier of his pant waist. Running her fingers along the top of the cloth until she reached the front, she hastily fought to rid him of that last irritating piece of clothing. The liquid pleasure percolating within her began to solidify into a pinpoint of anticipation as she slipped his pants down over his hips, pausing to let him kick them to the floor she took hold of the Saint Jude metal that was still dangling from his neck and tossed it over his shoulder so its cold metal wouldn't brush against her heated skin.

She was pulsing all over now, inside and out, burning wherever his skin brushed hers. No longer was she aware that she clung to him, her hands roving over the hard planes and angles of his body, bringing him the same torturous pleasure as he brought her. The only thing clear to her now was the pressure of her building need. Shifting slightly she brought one foot up to hook over his thighs, gently guiding him so that his hips nestled intimately between her legs. With eyes dazed with longing, she watched his sinful mouth come towards hers again. Opening to him as their lips met, his mouth swallowed her gasp when he plunged into her.

Clinging to him, Brielle lost herself in the storm that washed over them both, the world dimming as her reality narrowed to this one moment, to this one man. She flew to the heavens with him bursting apart in a racking climax among the stars. And for the first time, she felt whole.


	56. Moving Forward

**Hey all. Sorry this chapter is a little late. My first week back at school sort of threw me off. But anyway here it is so I hope you all enjoy it!**

**A huge thanks to Terpsichore for her editing and suggestions. She was super helpful as always (especially considering how busy she was this weekend). And also I would like to say that I love all of those who having been reviewing the last few chapters. I love hearing from you so thanks for sending your thoughts along. **

**Oh and also in a bid to bribe me to update faster Silvan decided to send me another fanart. And it is so cool! Unfortunately I don't have a link for this one so if you want to see just drop me a note and I will send it along! **

Chapter 56: Moving Forward

Erik's vision grayed, tunneling down until he could see nothing but her face, feel nothing but the give of her flesh under his. Clenching his hands in the sheets on either side of her head, he felt something primal curl within him, rushing through his blood and building until he was sure he would die. Then, just as he was tilting over the edge of some unknown precipice, Brielle's entire body stiffened under his, his name falling from her lips on a low moan. He had a split second to worry over this reaction before the coiling pressure within him sprang loose, kicking all rational thought from his mind. Nothing else registered, nothing else mattered.

The sound of his own ragged breathing was the first awareness of the real world to return to him; it echoed abnormally loudly in his ears as he struggled to orient himself. Blinking rapidly, he saw the finely woven strands of the sheets mere inches from his face. Lifting his head, he turned his gaze slightly to the side. Brielle lay with her eyes tightly shut, a light sheen of sweet making her pale face glow like fine pearls in the lamplight. _Have I been lying here for minutes or hours? _he wondered, all the while staring at Brielle as his mind stuttered back into motion.

Shifting under him, Brielle opened dazed eyes to gaze up at him. After a moment the cobwebs cleared, and she tried to take a deep breath. "Erik, love, you have to get off now or I will suffocate," she murmured breathlessly.

Raising his eyebrows at her statement, Erik jerked up onto his elbows. "Pardon me, I wasn't thinking," he stuttered as he rolled to the side. Now that his head was clearing, uncertainty and embarrassment rolled in on the heels of passion's retreat.

Brielle burst out laughing then, pulling his gaze down from the ceiling to her face. "What?" he asked slowly, looking around the room in a bid to find what was so funny. Waving off his question, Brielle covered her mouth, muffling the giggles still bubbling out of her, unable, at the moment, to form words. As he stared at her smiling face a frown began to pull down at the corners of his mouth. _What is she laughing about? _he worried. _God…I must have done something stupid! Why would I think that I would be any good at any of this! _Raising a hand to scrub over his face, he opened his mouth to apologize when Brielle slid her palm over his mouth.

"Stop it," she demanded sternly, the laughter from a moment ago completely gone from her voice, but still dancing in her heavy lidded eyes.

Reaching up to peel her hand from his mouth, he shot her a glare. "What? Stop what?"

Watching him carefully with those storm-colored eyes, Brielle propped herself up onto her elbow, a lazy smile pulling at her heart-shaped mouth, her hair flowing loose about her shoulders. "Second guessing yourself, worrying, brooding about something or another. I can tell when you do that, you know…"

"Yes, yes. I know…you are a goddamn mind reader," he said more harshly than he had intended.

"Nooo…" Brielle replied cheerfully, ignoring his tone. Raising her hand she rubbed her thumb along the worry line between his brows. "I can tell because when you are brooding about something, a cute little furrow appears on your forehead."

Staring at her, Erik couldn't seem to hold onto his frown. "Then why were you laughing just now?" he demanded, grabbing hold of a sheet corner to pull modestly over himself.

Dropping her hand from his face, she leaned forward. "'Pardon me, I wasn't thinking,'" she said with the overdone French accent she always used when mimicking him. "I don't know why that struck me as so funny. When you get uncomfortable you become more polite. It just seemed silly after…well, how close we had just been."

Watching her warily for a moment, Erik finally eased back against the pillows. "Oh…is that all?" he asked casually, shooting her glances out of the corner of his eye, completely at a loss as to what to do now. _What is the proper decorum for this type of situation?_ Pausing for a split second he winced at his own thought. _God damn I DO become more polite when I am uneasy! _

"Yes, that is all," she murmured, scooting closer to his side until the heat of her skin warmed his hip through the sheet, sending shivers racing up his spine. Unlike him, she had not bothered to pull the blankets over herself, choosing instead to lie on her stomach with her feet crossed in the air. Her proximity and her seeming unconcern with her own nakedness was beginning to distract him, and unbidden his eyes flickered away from her face and down the graceful curve of her back. _How is she so comfortable like that? _

"Well, that is…good," he said stupidly as he stared at her curves with open curiosity. He had been so caught up in the feel of her hands before that this was the first time he had seen her, and just her. Without the layers of clothing, without the petticoats and yards of concealing fabric, without any sort of adornment whatsoever, she was still devastatingly beautiful. Clenching his jaw, Erik tried to ignore the new spark of desire already tightening his stomach muscles. Noticing his line of sight, Brielle ducked her head slightly, a blush glowing in her cheeks. _I guess she isn't as unconcerned as I thought,_ Erik thought momentarily, his worry fading slightly in the face of her bashfulness.

Reaching back to tug some of the sheets over herself, she flashed a lopsided smile, for the first time since he had known her looking as if she didn't know what to say. Erik was surprised how endearing her slight hesitation was, and despite himself he couldn't help but relax. Somehow knowing she had her own insecurities helped his own, tamping down on the insidious negative whisperings in his head.

"By the way," she began whilst running her finger along the seams of the pillow sham, a little bit of her usual spark and humor dancing in her eyes as she slowly brought them back up to his face. "It appears, sir, that you have done quite a bit more than just a _little_ reading on…how should I put this…the nocturnal arts."

"Excuse me?" he asked, his eyebrows soaring up to his hairline.

Wrinkling her nose at him, she reached out and gave him a poke in the ribs. "Sweet Mary…you are going to make me say it right out, aren't you? What I mean to say is that you learn extremely fast. Had I known that this would be so enjoyable, I would have seduced you long ago." With that said, she bit her lip and turned her head to bury her face in a nearby pillow. "Oh God, I can't believe I just said that!"

Stunned, Erik could only stare at her as she turned a deep shade of red. _Wait…she just said that…it went well…didn't she? I did not mess things up. _Slowly a smile spread across his face and a deep sense of satisfied arrogance swept through him. Suddenly he couldn't wait to try their 'nocturnal arts' again, and try out a few of the things he had read about. Grinning now, the little voice in his head grew quiet and glowing warmth spread through his chest. _How did I not realize it before…God I love this woman. _

Emboldened he reached out, for the first time without any encouragement, and ran his fingers down her arm, amazed that _he_ should finally be allowed such a simple luxury as to touch in such a casual manner, like a normal man. Reacting to his caress, Brielle brought her head up to smile at him over the pillow. "I could not have had a better teacher," Erik murmured, pleased when Brielle's smile grew.

Scooting forward she came up flush beside him, their bare hips brushing under the sheets as Brielle laid her head against the curve of his shoulder, one hand comfortably splaying across his bare chest. A moment passed as Erik closed his eyes, soaking in the feather light pressure of her hand upon his skin, tucking it away in his mind. Curving his arm around her waist, he drew her closer, tilting his head to the side to rest his chin against her soft head. She sighed at his touch, welcoming it with such acceptance that Erik felt shaken down to the very bottom of his soul. _The only thing I cannot understand is why. Why is she so willing to allow me to touch her…when she knows who I am…what I…what I look like? _

"Brielle?" he asked softly. "Why…did you decide to…" Clearing his throat a bit uncomfortably, he stopped there, unsure of how to voice the question now looming in the back of his mind.

"What? Throw myself at you?" she supplied, the feel of her breath upon his skin sending delighted shivers over his skin.

Nodding silently, he ran his fingers gently along her back, going lower to the swell of her hip when she didn't seem to mind his liberties. Shifting, she raised her head from his shoulder to look up at him. "Because if I hadn't we would have never resolved anything. And though I know you don't want to hear this, you are a fine specimen of a man. Mask or no mask…" she said, raising a hand to trace a finger along the outer edge of his mask.

Shuddering at her touch, he tried to wrap his mind around her answer, but found the task just out of his reach. A lifetime of hiding and shame simply couldn't be wiped away with one gentle sentence, despite how much he wanted it to. "I know you must feel glad to be alive after your close call this week. Every time a person cheats death it is understandable for them to experience a time of…heightened compulsory actions," he blurted out without thinking.

He barely had a moment to rethink what he had just said before Brielle stiffened next to him, all her soft curves turning to iron in the blink of an eye. She continued to stare up at his face but her eyes had lost their laughter and now bore into his with an intensity that could melt lead. It was at that moment Erik realized his mistake.

"So you think that because I am grateful to you for saving me that I slept with you?" she asked quietly, the Irish in her voice thickening like a sea fog, a clear sign of her growing agitation.

Opening his mouth to reply, Erik was stopped when Brielle clamped a hand roughly over his lips. Her entire body shaking next to his, she raised herself up so that they were eye to eye. "Blast you, stupid man!" she hissed, cursing his name in a string of Gaelic as she turned and grabbed a pillow to smash it down over his head.

Fighting off her attack, Erik struggled to sit up in order to avoid being smothered. "That isn't what I meant!" he yelped as he grappled for Brielle's wrists.

"Despite what you think I wouldn't give myself to any man out of gratitude!" she railed down at him. "I am not some penny whore anyone can find on a Dublin street corner!"

Finally catching hold of her hands, Erik threw the pillow aside. "That is not what I meant! Despite what you think I am completely out of my element here! I hear the words you say, but it is difficult for me to grasp them. So of course it is a given that I am going to say something stupid!"

Stopping her struggle, Brielle pursed her lips into an irritated line. After a few tense moments, the fire faded from her eyes and her hands relaxed in his hold. "Yes, I suppose it is a given you will say something stupid," she agreed finally.

"You don't have to agree to that so easily," he muttered with mild irritation.

Pulling the sheet up to wrap about her torso, Brielle sat back and frowned at Erik, her ire not yet completely squelched. "You know very well the only reason why I would choose to have relations with you. I told you that I loved you several times."

"Would you believe me if I told you that I assumed you meant a platonic kind of love?" Erik asked, wincing at how silly that sounded when said aloud.

Rolling her eyes skyward, Brielle let out a sigh. "Are you serious?"

Propping himself up onto his elbows, he leaned back against the headboard. "Yes, I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

Disbelief had Brielle's mouth falling open. Then with a shake of her head, she let out a short burst of laughter. "So the fact that we had kissed on several occasions never entered your mind?"

"Uh…well…"

Waving a hand, Brielle brushed that aside. "Just so we are clear then…everything that just happened was definitely not platonic."

"I am not stupid," Erik grumped, feeling the full weight of his own naiveté. _How long have we been dancing around this? How much time have we wasted when we could have been together?_ he wondered as he closed his eyes. "But I can understand your anger. I should not have insulted you by suggesting that you would bestow your affections upon me for any other reason besides love. Your heart would allow for nothing else."

"Well I suppose I can forgive you," Brielle said grudgingly, as she flopped back against the headboard next to him. "Besides, I am just a little too tired at the moment to fight with you."

Silence stretched out between them as Erik searched the ceiling for something to say. It had been a long time since he had found it difficult to speak freely with Brielle. Biting his lip, he stole a glance her way, tapping his index finger against his stomach. "How long have you known? How you felt about me, that is…"

"Do you want to know when I realized it or when I first felt it?" she replied, her hand absently sliding across the mattress until she linked her fingers with his.

"Both."

"I realized it after you pulled Aria out of the lake when she had fallen through the ice."

"So long ago?" he murmured, feeling like a fool because it had taken her near death to squeeze the same realization out of his stubborn brain.

"But I have to admit that the first time I felt that there was something…different about you…was the first time I touched you…when I found you under the Opera. Strange that I should remember it so clearly…but when you leaned against me as we made our way out I recall that I thought it odd that we should fit together so well. I was the perfect height for you to lean against and you were the perfect height for me to hold up," she stated with certainty.

Slowly slouching sideways, drawing closer to the warmth emitting from his body, Brielle curled up against him. "Now can I ask you a question?" she asked.

Drawing in a quick intake of breath, Erik felt a moment of panic wash over his mind. Somehow he was certain she was about to ask him when it was that he realized his feelings for her. And though there was no risk in telling her that he loved her, since she had already confessed her feelings for him, he felt like a fool for how long it took him to know his own emotions. _I have only ever said those words once before…to Christine. And look how that turned out. NO…No…this is different! Don't even think about it._

"Certainly…" he finally replied, hearing the worry in his own voice.

"What is your favorite color?" Brielle asked lightly, her tone shifting as if she had sensed his discomfort. The casual question caught Erik completely off guard.

"Excuse me?" he asked as he stared at her, his brow wrinkling in thought. _How is it that when I am sure I have figured her out she always proves me wrong? Never pushing when I am sure she will, and always pestering about something that doesn't seem important._

Stretching lazily, Brielle hooked a leg over one of his, making him jump at the touch of her silky skin against his. "I know it is silly to want to know such a thing…but…I suppose I…want to know you better. You are always so quiet about yourself and I feel at a huge disadvantage, considering how much you know about me."

Relieved to have escaped with such an easy question, Erik let out a laugh. "Out of all the things you could have asked…" he chuckled as he shook his head. Without looking down at her, he could feel her frown focused upon him and so he hastily stopped laughing to give the appearance that he was seriously considering her question. "Well, let's see…I don't think I have ever really thought about it."

Waiting without saying a word, Brielle merely inclined her head to watch him. After a few moments Erik felt his eyes drawn downward to meet hers, his smile sobering as he allowed himself to study her classic features. "Gray, I think," he murmured.

"Hmm?" Brielle raised her eyebrows, her lovely fog-colored eyes shifting as if she had forgotten her own question whilst looking up at him.

"My favorite color," Erik clarified, reaching out to trace the very tips of his fingers along her cheek, watching as her eyes grew dark and heavy at his touch. "My favorite color is gray."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Walking down a Parisian street at midday, Conner hunched his shoulders against the chilly wind, shifting Aria on one hip as he adjusted her winter coat. Splashing through an icy puddle, he dodged the other people moving down the sidewalk with ease, ignoring the glowing smiles of the women he passed. Frowning at the ground directly in front of his feet, he only looked up to check street signs before moving on, making his way further and further away from the Opera with a steady and determined gait.

"Uncle C-Connner…where are w-we g-going?" the child asked loudly to make her voice carry over the wind.

Relaxing the frown upon his face, Conner smiled at his niece. "It is a secret adventure so I can't tell you."

Covering her mouth with her mittens, Aria let out a giggle and shook her head at Conner. "You are a l-liar!" she squealed before wrapping her arms around his neck. "W-Where are we r-really going?"

"Ah, you are too smart for me, lass," Conner laughed in reply as he shifted her squirming form in his arms. Aria nodded happily to that, swinging her legs back and forth as Conner walked. "We are looking for a flower shop, love, if you really must know."

"I l-love flowers!"

Raising his free hand to rub at his ear after the overzealous exclamation, the redhead winced slightly. "Inside voice, Aria, for the love of God. You are going to make your poor uncle go deaf."

"But I c-can't use m-my inside voice," she stated coyly. "W-We are outside r-right now."

Glancing down at the innocent grin upon the girl's face, the Irishman burst out into raucous laughter, drawing several alarmed glances to his uncouth outburst. "By God, if you aren't right! I pity the man that is going to go toe-to-toe with you in fifteen years."

"Eww, I h-hate boys. Except for y-you and Erik."

Nodding in understanding, Conner patted her back in a calming gesture. "All right then, never you mind." Spotting their destination across the street, the redhead paused at the curb. Quickly dashing to the other side of the road, with Aria bouncing upon his hip, Conner once again began to frown as they approached the flower shop.

"A-Are we g-going to g-go get Meg some flowers?" Aria asked when they were only a few shops away from the little store another member of the orchestra had recommended to him.

"Yep."

"W-What k-kind does she like?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

Raising a hand to cup about his ear, Aria loudly whispered over the wind. "Y-You are in t-trouble, then!" she sang.

Completely agreeing with the child, Conner's frown only grew fiercer. _Lord, she has no idea how much trouble I actually am in._ Staring up at the florist's sign as they drew closer to the shop, the redhead hardly paid any attention to where he was going. _Roses seem clichéd. Damn it I should have asked around and found out what she liked. _His thoughts came to an abrupt halt when he ran smack into a petite brunette, nearly knocking the woman off the sidewalk.

Aria let out a startled squeal as he shot out a hand to steady the young lady he had bumped into. "Pardon me! I wasn't paying attention as to where I was going. I…" Trailing off, his forest green eyes dropped to the woman's face. Recognizing the girl, Conner openly winced and took a hasty step back.

"Madame De Chagny? My word, what a small world. Um…what are you doing in this part of town?"

Startled, Christine blinked up at him for a few seconds, then slowly smiled. "Monsieur Sinclair? My, you scared me!" Raising a delicate hand to the fur-trimmed hat sitting atop her head, the vicomtesse's dark eyes moved from Conner's face to Aria's. A slight frown crinkled her brow as she lowered her hand. "The hotel I am staying in is just across the street," she said absently.

"Ah…well…Sorry again for plowing into you," Conner said quickly. Giving the girl a nod, he moved to step around her. "Good day to you."

Walking away from the girl stiffly, Conner mentally cursed when he heard the soft clicking of her heels following him down the sidewalk. Aria turned her head to look over his shoulder. "Uncle C-Conner…C-Christine is following you."

"Monsieur Sinclair!" Christine called as she hurried to catch up to him. With her breath puffing out in a cloud in front of her face, she came up alongside of him.

"Yes?" he replied lightly, purposely elongating his stride to force the girl to hurry to keep up. _Hopefully she will go away if she has to run._

"I am sure you are aware that Meg and I have been friends for a very long time," Christine stated, her curls bouncing as she struggled to keep up with him.

"Yep," he replied shortly, feeling his usually good humor begin to slip away. He had seen this delicate-looking beauty turn into a raving lunatic, and he didn't care to expose himself to such an unpredictable woman for long.

"So I think you should know that she is partial to daisies."

Stopping in his tracks, Conner turned his head to look over at the vicomtesse. "Excuse me?"

Catching her breath, Christine repeated her statement, giving an uncomfortable little shrug when Conner only continued to stare at her. "Why are you telling me this?" he finally demanded.

"Well…I noticed you are heading toward the flower shop. I have also noticed how much attention you have been paying to Meg. Was I wrong to assume that you are going to get some flowers for her?" she asked, folding her hands in front of her.

"Excuse me for saying this, but I am a little surprised you have been able to notice much of anything lately…considering your…conduct at the Opera."

Looking uncomfortable, Christine dropped her eyes to the floor, and suddenly Conner felt like a rat for barbing her. "Yes…I suppose I deserve that," she murmured with a deflated little smile. "That place…holds many memories. Just by walking within its walls…brings them all back…. It made me feel like I was back there again…back to the person I was then."

"So you are a different person now?" he asked, a little stunned that this woman he hardly knew was confiding so much to him.

"Everyone changes…even people like me. At least I am trying anyway." Raising her soft dark eyes to his, she gave herself a little shake and then flashed a winning smile. "You seem to be a nice man. After all, it seems you are taking a turn at looking after Madame Donovan's child while she is…ill." Looking at Aria, then back to Conner, she rubbed her hands together. "So Meg likes daisies, all right. And if you happened to mention some of the places you have traveled to it would do you some good."

"Um, thanks…" Conner said as Christine turned away to look back over her shoulder.

"I really should be going," she said with a quick wave. Raising his hand in an automatic gesture, Conner waved her off as the vicomtesse turned and swept off down the street.

"That was…odd," the redhead muttered as he watched Christine disappear from view. Looking down at Aria, he made a face and turned to wander, dazed, toward the flower shop door. Entering the shop, he set Aria on the floor so that she could scamper about as he perused the colorful bouquets.

Stopping in front of the daisies, he frowned down at the white flowers. _I don't know of a reason that Madame De Chagny would lie to me over something as silly as flowers. Yet, from what I have seen of her behavior so far, it just seems very odd for her to help out a stranger for no reason. Perhaps there is more to the vicomtesse than what I have seen,_ he allowed grudgingly, as he took up an armful of daisies and quickly paid for them.

Strolling out the door, with Aria on his heels, Conner couldn't help but smile to himself. All of a sudden he didn't feel as lost as he had, some of his normal confidence was returning to him. _It makes sense she would like daisies. They are a happy sort of flower, without too much fuss. They suit her. _Looking down to take Aria's hand in his, he began to whistle to himself. _It is about time I take a hold of myself and get down to business. Enough fooling around. _

Aria looked up at him and grinned. "S-She is going t-to really like these. I j-just know it."

"Glad to hear that from you, lass. It puts my heart at ease," he laughed as he led the way through the pedestrian traffic back towards the Opera. Nearing the grand boulevards that led up to the theater, Conner caught sight of the tall figure of James Turner on the other side of the street moving quickly in the opposite direction, his every step seeming as he were on the brink of running. The tenor turned a corner and was gone before Conner could even consider crossing to greet him.

Shrugging, Conner bent at the waist and swept Aria up in one arm, carrying her on the opposite side of the flowers. Picking up his pace, he bounced her as he walked until he laughed with glee, her cheeks a bright pink from the wind. Quickly making his way to one of the Opera's less used entrances, he eagerly climbed the stairs and opened the closed door. Seeing Father Thomas on the other side, Conner halted his progress and smiled.

"Hello there, Father. Sorry I nearly ran into you…it is becoming a horrible habit today."

Blinking owlishly through his spectacles, the priest shifted and gave a harried smile. "Think nothing of it."

"Are you on your way out, then? It is a nice clear day even if it is still cold."

Glancing at the flowers, Father Thomas nodded in response to Conner's statement, seeming more than slightly preoccupied. "That is nice to know. I had hoped to get some fresh air on the way to a meeting I have with some of my superiors at the abbey."

Winking at the priest, trying to lighten the man's sober mood, Conner stepped to the side to allow him to pass. "Have we been taxing you terribly here, Father? I swear I will come for confession soon!"

The worry faded slightly from the other man's eyes as a laugh escaped him. "I will not hold my breath, monsieur, but if you do decide to come, do give me some warning."

"Why is that?"

"So I can set aside a day or so to hear the entire thing without interruption," the priest replied without missing a beat, as he strode past Conner with a wave.

Barking out a laugh, Conner shook his head. "I knew there was a reason I liked you!" he called loudly before turning and entering the Opera. Setting Aria back on her feet, he closed the door behind them, already planning on exactly how he was going to go about courting a certain blonde dancer. Noting the child's sudden solemn attitude, Conner patted her head.

"What is it, lass? Are you worried about your Momma?" When Aria only shrugged, Conner reached down to run his hand over her dark head. "Don't worry, she will be fine. Erik is taking care of her," he soothed. "Do you want to come and help me surprise Meg?"

Nodding, Aria reached up and took hold of his pant leg, her dimples showing as she smiled at the idea. "T-That will b-be fun."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hurrying along the crowded streets, the man made his way through the masses with a purposeful stride. Keeping his head up, he searched street signs to make certain he was going in the correct direction. A thoughtful frown marred his forehead as he picked up his pace, wanting very much to reach his destination. _I think it is about time that I find out the full story of what is going on within that place, _he told himself over and over again to keep the anxiety churning within his stomach at bay.

Passing into a more stylish section of town, the man slowed his pace, looking more carefully at the addresses as he passed them. Finding the building he was looking for, he hastily pushed open the front door and walked into a well appointed lobby. A young man sitting behind a desk looked up at his entrance and frowned.

"Can I help you with something?" the young clerk asked politely.

"I came to see Lord Donovan."

"Do you have an appointment?" came the curt reply.

"Well…no."

"Then I am afraid you will have to come back another time," the clerk recited mechanically as if he had said the speech a thousand times. "Monsieur Donovan is extremely busy and cannot see anyone at the moment. He is in the middle of some extremely important business."

Ignoring this, the man moved towards the closed doors behind the clerk. "I don't have time for this. I have to see him today!"

The clerk rose to block the man, and it appeared that there was going to be a scene. One of the double doors behind the clerk's desk opened just then. The cool voice that drifted out of the opening stopped all activity out in the lobby. "Let him in. It is all right."

Shooting a disapproving glance at the intruder, the clerk straightened his coat and retook his seat at the desk. Likewise straightening his clothing, the man passed by the desk and through the now open door. Andrew stood on the other side, his face impassive as he reached out to slide the door shut, but his dark eyes held a fire that gave the man pause. Without a word Andrew turned and strode off down a marble lined hall, passing several other doors where other clerks were busily at work. The man gaped slightly at the intense operation going on all around him. _I had no idea Lord Donovan ran such a place…I mean I knew he was a business man, but I suppose I figured he wasn't so involved._

Reaching a large mahogany door at the end of the hall, Andrew pulled it open with a careful control and strode into the office beyond. The young lord waited until the door was shut behind them before he turned. "Please tell me that you have some information for me," he began sharply. "I would like some reason for this intrusion. Have you done what I asked? Have you found her?"

"Yes, my lord," the man replied. "I have seen her. You were right. She is there."

The fire faded from Andrew's gaze as he sagged back against his desk, a weak smile flashing across his face. His hard black eyes softening as he stared at the floor. "Thank God," he murmured to himself. "I was beginning to think I had been wrong." Pushing away from his desk, he came across the room, his attitude completely different from how he had appeared in the lobby, all fevered concern now. "Tell me…how is she? What has she been doing there? Is she all right?"

Startled by Andrew's uncharacteristic candor, the man could only stare for a moment. "My lord, before I can say anything else I must know the full story behind all of this."

His eyes quickly cooling, Andrew raised his chin. "Oh? So you _must_ know? And why should I be compelled to explain myself to you?"

"I cannot convey any information that might harm a young lady, my lord. She seems happy there and I cannot understand why…."

Raising a hand for silence, Andrew nodded. "Ah, I see. You are worried for her welfare. I suppose I can understand that, considering I have been able to think of hardly anything but her welfare for the last few months. I will grant your wish, then…and tell you why all the secrecy is needed."

Turning, the young lord went to sit behind his desk, gesturing to his guest with a polite air for him to likewise sit. Leaning back in his chair, Andrew steepled his fingers and regarded the other man with sharp dark eyes. "This whole sorry tale started about a year ago. I am sure you heard about the disaster last January. Brielle was there that night to see the new opera with her brother. When the theater caught fire she stayed to help the injured as best she could." Smiling, Andrew shrugged. "She has always been like that. Too kind for her own good." Waving off that sentiment, Andrew continued. "She found a man there in the fire, a masked man. Evidently he was very close to death but she took him in and cared for him without knowing who he really was."

Sitting up straighter, the other man looked slightly alarmed. "A masked man!"

A dark light flickered behind Andrew's eyes as he nodded. "From your reaction I assume you have heard of the phantom. Good…it saves me some explaining. Needless to say, he did not die that night but stayed with Brielle…becoming Arianna's tutor when he got well. Slowly he spread his evil into her household, poisoning her mind with lies all the while, poisoning her brother's mind as well." Pausing there as if too distressed to continue, Andrew cleared his throat.

"I am not an overly emotional man…so it was easy for him to turn them all against me. Criminals and murderers are often talented in deceiving people. Needless to say, that though I was engaged to her, he was able to force her to leave her home and come here."

Biting his lip as he processed this information, the man shifted in his chair. "But she looks happy…."

Waving this off, Andrew sat forward. "As I have said, he has great control over others. But I am convinced that they are all still in great danger. He has killed and will kill again. You must help me before it is too late," Andrew said, his tone rising quickly to an almost pleading note.

Nodding quickly, the man rose. "Of course I will…I had no idea that…well…of any of this. Just tell me what to do. That poor woman…I didn't know."

"Continue on as you have for now," Andrew said as he likewise stood and walked to the door, ushering the other man along with him. "I will contact you soon. I have a plan in order to get her away from him without anyone getting hurt."

"Surely we should call the police."

"No!" Andrew bit out sharply before taking a breath and starting over. "No…. He is a smart man and would see it coming. That is the reason for the secrecy and so for now we must be careful. Can I count on you?"

After a short pause, the other man gave a nod. "Good…you are doing the right thing…maybe even saving many lives. Wait for word from me."

Urging the other man smoothly out the door, Andrew shut it after watching his accomplice hurry down the hall. Closing the door quietly, a triumphant smirk slid across the young lord's imperial features. "Perfect…he believed everything…" he breathed, his voice low with promised threat. "Soon…soon we will be together again." Laughing aloud, he turned and leaned against the door, the relief swimming through his body making his knees weak.

Raising a hand to run through his perfectly combed hair the young lord continued to laugh hollowly. _You'll see John. She will pick me…I had to wait but I know now she will see the light. She will pick me. She will love me as I have always loved her. She will finally be mine…and only mine. And maybe…maybe finally…I won't have to feel so empty inside anymore. With her by my side…I can finally be complete. _Sighing heavily Andrew straightened and opened his office door.

"Tucker!" he called down the hall, causing a young man to stick his head out of one of the other office doors. "Please call my lawyers. I would like to further discuss the custody suite with them…immediately."


	57. Daisies

**Hey all. Here is the next chapter! Hope y'all like it! Thanks so much to Terpsichore for her speedy editing skills. Hurray! Oh and she has started a story of her own on another site. It isn't a Phantom fic but the first chapter is still great! Here is the link.**

**http/www. fictionpress. com/ read. php?storyid 2151198**

**And omg. IheartPoto did another great pic last week. She made it into a wallpaper this time which is super cool. Here is the link. (As usual just take the spaces out of it to make it work.)**

**http/www. deviantart. com/deviation /31320068/**

Chapter 57: Daisies

On a mission to locate a certain blonde dancer Conner strolled along with Aria in tow, making a quick sweep of the stage, his eyes dark and intensely focused. Not finding Meg or any of the other dancers at practice, he changed directions and began searching the backstage area. Several of the stagehands working upon a large set piece stopped and waved as Conner drew up alongside them, offering him a bottle of wine. Aria clung to her uncle's pant leg when he stopped to decline the offer.

Raising an eyebrow at the flowers in Conner's hand, one of the stagehands laughed and put down his hammer. "You got yourself a girl we don't know about, Sinclair?" he teased, giving a conspiratorial wink to his working mates.

"Why do you want to know?" the redhead shot back as he patted Aria on the head.

"So I can steal her away before she wastes her time with the likes of you!" he said, causing a wave of laughter to erupt among the other workers.

Rolling his eyes, Conner merely waved off the statement, in too good a mood to rise to the bait, good-natured though it was. "Ha…ha…ha. I would love to discuss things further, gentlemen, but I do have more _important_ things to do." Ushering Aria ahead of him, he turned to leave as another bout of laughter rocked the small group of workers.

Turning her head to look up at her uncle, Aria scrunched up her nose. "You w-wouldn't let s-someone steal M-Meg, would you?"

"Course not, lass."

"Cause t-that would b-be bad!"

"Yes it would," Conner nodded absently as he mentally went over several ways in which to present Meg the flowers.

Running along in order to keep up with Conner's long-legged strides, Aria took hold of his coattails, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. "S-So are you g-going to m-marry her, then?"

"Absolutely…" Stopping in mid-step, Conner frowned as the actual content of her question sank in. Shooting the child a quick glare that had her giggling, he started walking again. "Hey now…what a wicked creature you are for tricking your poor uncle," he said darkly, trying and failing to give a touch of seriousness to his words.

Continuing to laugh to herself, Aria gave a little shrug, obviously rather pleased with herself. "You c-can't take it b-back nooow," she sang as she twirled her skirt about her knees. "You h-have to d-do it!"

Opening his mouth to admonish her for her sudden silliness, Conner found that the irritation he expected to feel wasn't there. In fact, there was a part of him that found her statement extremely appealing. _Married to Meg huh? What a stupid idea…_ he thought, more as a bid to rationalize his own wayward feelings than anything else, but despite his thoughts to the contrary, the idea of settling down was still attractive. _God, I must be getting old._ As he stood there staring off into space, a foolish lopsided grin began to spread across his face.

_Hmm…what a thought…marriage. What would that be like?_ Shifting the flowers in his hands, his mind wandered into what could be. He imagined what it would feel like to wake up next to the same woman every morning, next to Meg; to be able to touch her hair in the morning sunlight and watch her dark eyes warm as she awoke to his touch. The thought both terrified and fascinated, filling him with a strange glowing sensation he had never felt before. _Well, that might not be half-bad._

"Uncle C-Conner!" Aria asked loudly, pulling on his pant leg. "Uncle C-Conner. What are you d-doing?"

Snapping out of his daydream, Conner blinked down at the child, the smile fading slightly as he realized how idiotic one woman was making him. "What? Oh, I'm not doing anything, lass. Just thinking."

"W-Well think while you w-walk," Aria demanded as she tugged upon his clothing more insistently.

"All right then," Conner mumbled on a laugh, trying to clear his head. The daydream had left him feeling slightly shaken. Clearing his throat, he looked down at the daisies in his hand and flashed a bright smile, pushing his weird thoughts to the side. "But enough of this fooling around now, lass!" he said with mock severity. "I have to get these flowers to a certain young lady before they all die."

"I w-wasn't the one standing around l-looking at nothing!" Aria exclaimed indignantly, as she breezed past him in such a way that made her look exactly like her mother.

Shaking his head, Conner followed behind the child. He took a breath, on the verge of delivering another flippant quip, when a familiar blonde figure came strolling around the corner. Startled by Meg's sudden appearance, the redhead looked left and right before leaping behind a rack of finished costumes waiting to be fitted. With his heart pounding in his chest, he motioned for Aria to follow him but the child blatantly ignored his silent demands. _God damn…here I was planning some smooth delivery and she comes around the corner and nearly ruins everything. I can't just give the blasted things to her… Lord a' mighty, never has another woman made me feel so unsettled. _

Cursing silently, Conner watched Aria wave to Meg, drawing the dancer down the hall, a light smile gracing her pretty features as she came closer. "What are you doing here all by yourself?" Meg asked as she came to stand before the child, her cinnamon colored eyes searching their surroundings slowly.

"I am n-not all b-by myself," Aria replied as she turned her head to look over at Conner's hiding place, mischief brightening her face to a bright pink. "Uncle C-Conner is here."

Meg brightened at that, her reaction causing Conner to mimic her smile from his hiding place. Somehow, the knowledge that the mere mention of his name could cause her to smile that way sent a wave of pure arrogant satisfaction shooting through his veins. _Sweet Mary, does she always look like that when I am not watching? All I ever get to see is her frowning at me._

"Oh? Where is your useless uncle then?" Meg asked, the irritation in her tone softened by the grin still spread across her face.

Deflating slightly, Conner frowned. _God she is the most damned annoying woman,_ he grumbled silently as he straightened, the exasperation within him driving away the nervousness. "Ah now lass, who is the useless one?" he asked as he strolled out of his hiding place, careful to keep the flowers behind his back as he flashed a winning smile.

Meg jumped at his sudden appearance, her pretty mouth falling open on a gasp. Gathering her composure, the blonde raised her chin to glare up at him. "What is the matter with you, jumping out like that and scaring me?" she chided, her body posture stiffening in his presence. "And what were you doing hiding back there?"

Ignoring her prickly attitude Conner raised his free hand to run through his hair, trying to set aside his annoyance enough to be charming. "I wasn't hiding, lass," he said lightly, shooting a quelling look in Aria's direction in order to insure the child's silence. "And you have my apology if I frightened you."

Caught off guard by his pleasant response Meg took a step back, obviously having expected some flippant remark from him. Looking a little uncomfortable with this new, calmer side of the Irishman, she shifted her gaze off to the side. "Um…well that is all right. A little fright never hurt anyone, I suppose." With her eyes lowered, she noticed the arm Conner was holding behind his back. "Why are you doing that?"

Feigning ignorance, Conner gave a little shrug. "Doing what?"

"Holding your arm behind you like that," Meg said, growing a bit more confident now that she had something else to talk about. "Whatever are you hiding?"

Knowing the jig was up, Conner brought the daisies out from behind him, mentally cursing himself for how unpolished this delivery seemed, even as he flashed what he thought was his best smile. Meg took a look at the flowers, her eyes wide with surprise as she recognized the white blossoms; but slowly the smile faded and she looked away. The change mystified Conner and made him distinctly uneasy. _Lord, her moods change quicker than a summer storm. Why is it that I cannot predict her? _

"I see. On your way to another illicit affair somewhere?" she asked blandly, as she turned to pat Aria on the head. "You would think you would have asked someone to watch Aria first though."

The anger swept over him quick and hot as he took a step forward. "All right, I have had just about enough of your lip," he growled. "Now, I was willing to put up with it for a long time. After all, what did I care if you thought I have nothing else in my head but chasing skirts, but for you to suggest that I would be irresponsible where Aria is concerned is absolutely intolerable."

Staring up at him in shock, Meg opened her mouth to respond then shut it again, looking very much like a landed fish. Taking a deep breath, Conner thrust the bouquet of flowers into Meg's hands. "And the flowers were for you, lass. Daisies…I heard they were your favorite." Feeling a weight build in his stomach, Conner leaned down to take Aria's hand in his. _This was a mistake. I should have known better. The blasted girl hates me…why did I think this was a good idea. _Clearing his throat, he turned to leave. "Sorry to bother you."

Taking a hasty step after him, Meg grabbed hold on his coat sleeve. "Wait, don't go. I didn't mean to be so horrible."

Looking over his shoulder at her, Conner couldn't help but feel a little mean. "Oh? You could have fooled me," he said unkindly.

Absorbing the bite in his words without protest, Meg nodded her head. "I am sorry I implied you would mistreat Aria…I didn't really mean it…I don't know why I even said it. Whenever I am around you the most horrible things just come flying out of my mouth."

His expression softening slightly, Conner raised a hand to hers upon his arm, finding the warmth of her skin like a drug to his senses. "Yeah, I suppose I just have that effect on you. Instant irritation," he said, every word dripping with sarcasm.

Fingering the petals of one of her flowers, Meg looked away from him to the floor, her cheeks flushing a bright pink as she slid her hand out form under his, allowing it to fall to her side. "I am not always instantly irritated by you," she murmured. "Just whenever you act like a rake."

"Which is most of the time…" the redhead replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his exasperation faded. _Why can't I stay mad at her? It would serve her right…but…I just can't._

Looking up at him, Meg searched his face for a moment before likewise smiling. "Yes…"

Shaking his head, Conner laughed. "Well, at least you are honest…one of the many qualities I admire in you."

"Admire…_me_?" Meg sputtered incredulously, her blonde curls shaking as she shook her head in disbelief.

Sensing that he had hit a sensitive spot in the prickly defenses she always erected in his presence, Conner pushed his advantage, finally feeling as if he had found sure footing. Letting go of Aria's hand, the redhead took a step forward, bringing himself within touching distance of Meg. "Aye, lass I admire you greatly," he said, the Irish in his voice thickening as he reached out to trace a finger casually over the hand that was holding the bouquet of daisies.

She shivered at his touch, her mouth falling open on a gasp. "But…why?" she breathed. "I have never done anything remarkable."

"Ah, now that is where you are wrong. You are more than simply remarkable, you are absolutely astonishing." Moving his finger along the delicate bones of her thumb, he wrapped his hand about her wrist gently, careful to keep his touch light, so as not to frighten her, even though he had the wild and burning desire to crush her body to his and kiss the breath right out of her.

Feeling her pulse racing under his fingers, Conner took a moment to gather his thoughts, making a special point not to stare at her trembling lower lip. _God…I have wanted women before…but lord if this one won't kill me with the need for her._ "You might not have traveled the globe over, or secured some stupid prima ballerina position, but I have been watching you for weeks now and it becomes increasingly clear to me that you have qualities that I have never seen in a woman before."

"You…you are just saying that…" Meg sputtered, as she looked down at where his hand held onto her wrist.

"No, I seldom say things I don't mean. It wastes time that could be spent much more important things."

"Oh, like what?" Meg asked, some of her usual spunk returning to her voice as she rallied the courage it took to look Conner in the eye.

Flashing a devilish grin, Conner gave in to the boiling need inside of him. "Things like this," he murmured as he tugged on Meg's hand, drawing her toward him until the flowers in her hand were crushed between them. Lowering his head the Irishman brushed his lips lightly over hers, his eyes remaining open to watch a flurry of lively expressions dance across her face. Shock, gave way to anger, then transformed into a sighing bliss as her large expressive eyes began to flutter shut. The hand gripping the daisies between them loosened and the white blossoms fell to the floor in a shower of petals as Meg raised her hands up to cradle either side of his face.

Her touch shot through him like a lightning bolt, making his blood boil and his knees go weak. Unable to help himself, Conner felt the gentleness desert him as he crushed his mouth over hers, his hands rising to tangle in her sun-streaked hair. Something within him, something he had never known was lacking, shifted and ground into a new position, leaving him feeling both shaken and strangely whole. The sudden and violent need to drag her down to the floor and take her right there in the hall swamped his brain, leaving him seeing stars with the force behind the desire. In a knee jerk reaction to this dangerous need he pulled back, his hands shaking within Meg's hair as he fought to clear his mind. _No…you cannot. Not with her…it wouldn't be right. _

Meg's eyes flew open at his withdrawal, questioning him as she searched his flushed face. Lowering her hands to his chest, she took an unsteady breath. "I will not be just another notch upon your bedpost, Monsieur," Meg stated determinedly even though she did not pull away from his embrace.

His eyes glittering dangerously at her words, Conner slowly forced his hands to release her soft curls. "No," he growled low in his throat. "But you may very well be my last."

Not trusting himself to remain in her presence any longer without losing what control he had left, Conner took a careful step away from her. Dipping his head with some of the charm which he was famous for, the redhead hastily turned on his heel and beat a hasty retreat. Taking hold of Aria's hand as he passed her, Conner strode down the hall without looking back.

Scampering along next to her uncle, Aria craned her neck to peer back to where Meg was quickly lowering herself onto a nearby pile of boxes. Looking back up at Conner the child's face broke out into a grin, a dimple flashing happily n one cheek. "I think s-she liked the f-flowers," Aria said brightly, causing a strangled laugh to erupt from the man holding her hand.

"Yes…I daresay she did."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sitting upon his piano bench, Erik stared blankly at the familiar keys before him. Usually this was a place of refuge, a place of creation, where his mind could be set free from the grimness of his surroundings. But as the candles danced merrily about the room, his mind was a blank. The comforting symphony that normally played just for him was silent, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the shocking memories of the last day. Sitting now as he was, calmly staring straight ahead, it was hard to believe that in the last twenty-four hours his entire life had changed. It seemed more a dream than anything else.

Closing his eyes, he reached into the vaults of his mind, replaying the previous night in a bid to assure himself that it had actually happened. Behind closed eyes, he could see the curve of Brielle's cheek flushed in passion and heard her soft lilting voice call his name over and over until he could hear nothing else. Raising a hand to scrub over his face, Erik leaned his elbows on the edge of the organ. Struggling to steady his breath, he could practically feel the intoxicating touch of her hands upon his body, so keenly was his memory unwinding within him.

So powerful were these stored memories that they had, after several hours, driven him from her side. Brielle had fallen asleep with her head resting upon his shoulder after they had talked for some time. He had spent several wakeful hours staring at her sleeping face, just as he had done several nights ago in her room. Sleep had not come to him for he feared to close his eyes, least the dream burn away into nothing, like a morning fog under the sun. And so he had slipped from the bedroom, dressed, and come out to the organ room to think.

Turning upon the bench, Erik looked over his shoulder at the hallway across the room. _Brielle is still sleeping. She is weaker than she lets on. I suppose one does not just bounce back from a near death experience. _A new spike of fear pushed its way into his mind at the mere memory of her in danger. Even now when the threat was passed, it left him shaky inside. _To think of life without her there…especially now…is mind numbing. _

Climbing to his feet, he paced across the floor, eyes riveted at a spot directly in front of his moving feet. _Why didn't I tell her how I felt? She told me…why couldn't I just tell her? And why didn't she push the issue…_Glaring at the carpet, he stuffed his hands into his pants pockets, the questions whirling about his head at a dizzying rate. Without consciously realizing what he was doing, he raised his gaze to a small locked desk that was shoved up against one wall. Moving toward the desk, he snagged a key from a nearby shelf and stuffed it into the lock. Opening a bottom drawer, her reached in and pulled out a piece of crumpled parchment. Smoothing the paper out on the top of the desk, he stared down at the only remaining drawing he had done of Christine's smiling face. Frowning, he examined the perfect rendition of her features, looking over her features for the first time since he had crumpled the drawing into that drawer months ago. He waited for the old feelings to wash over him, the old longing, the sadness, but he was shocked to find that he felt nothing of the violent affection she had once sparked within him. When he looked at the drawing, it was like looking at any piece of pleasing art. If he felt anything at all, it was the last dredges of the bitter anger which had settled deep within his soul, but even that seemed far off and gauzy as a half-remembered dream.

Jumping to his feet, he dropped the paper onto the floor. _That's it…that is why I couldn't say it. _Rushing to a nearby table, he grabbed a blank sheet of paper and scribbled a quick note to Brielle before jumping into the waiting boat at the dock. Rowing off into the darkness, he felt the weight of worry lift from his shoulders, leaving him feeling light as air. He was certain now of what he had to do. Passing endless rows of shadowed columns, Erik soon came to the other side of the lake. Tying off the boat, he practically ran most of the way to the upper floors.

_A man cannot live when he is haunted by the past. That is my mistake. I have not buried the past. _Weaving through the darkened passages with an ease born of years of experience, he clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. Coming to a dead end, Erik pressed a hidden mechanism and slipped from his underground world and out into the open.

Gliding in and out of sight like a shadow on a cloudy day, he moved through the Opera's hallways without being seen. Methodically he searched the floors for a woman he had not seen in a year, the very woman who had nearly killed him with her rejection. He knew Christine had to be there, somewhere, and he planned on finding her.

Standing discreetly behind a hanging backdrop, Erik allowed a group of the theater's carpenters to pass by. In the distance, the sounds of the chorus practicing the second act in Faust floated through the air. Drawing back the curtain with one finger, he carefully searched the area beyond for any more passersby. The light just barely touched the planes of his face, shading his eyes from view as he let the drapery fall back into place.

_Where in the world is she? _Erik thought with growing irritation, and then like a light going on in his skull an idea struck him. Turning fluidly, he swept off back the way he had come, heading straight toward the dressing rooms, toward Brielle's room. Passing the end of the hall, he caught sight of a petite brunette, standing in front of the mirror room's closed door, with her back toward him, talking rather loudly with Meg.

"Christine, for the love of God, I asked you to stay away from here. Brielle is ill. Can you not see that it would be wicked for you to go into her room now?" Meg demanded, exasperation obviously thrumming in her tone, though strangely enough her voice lacked any sign of actual anger. In fact, the blonde seemed to be in an extraordinarily good mood.

"Yes, I know," Christine's lovely bell-like voice replied, sounding truly contrite in the special way she had that forced you to automatically believe her. "I know I am a horrible person. I just thought…" Sighing, Christine paused there. "Meg, do you truly believe that what I am doing is wrong?"

"Yes," Meg replied with certainty. "Everyone else has put last year behind them. Perhaps it is time you did so too. You have your own life to live…you have a husband who loves you…but you are stuck being the person you were then. Everyone else has grown up."

Christine hung her head slightly, her shoulders drooping in submission. "Yes…yes…you are right. But please understand that I thought I was doing the right thing by coming back here. That I thought I could…make things right in a way."

"I know. You were just going about it the wrong way."

Waving a hand weakly in the air, Christine let out a sad sort of laugh. "Yes, I seem to always go about things the wrong way. I try to do good things now, whenever I can, but it always seems to never work out. I mean I was so certain that I knew what Monsieur Sinclair was trying to do this morning but I think I was wrong about that too."

There was a slight weighted pause before Meg spoke up. "What?" she asked slowly.

Nodding, Christine lowered her hand. "Yes, I feel like such a twit. I told him your favorite flower this morning because I thought he was courting you. The poor soul looked so confused that I thought I would help him."

"What made you think he was courting me?" Meg sputtered loudly.

Taken aback by her friend's tone, Christine hesitated. "Well…the way he has been looking at you reminded me of how Raoul looks at me. I was certain…but I see you don't have any flowers so I suppose I was wrong. I am sorry. I didn't mean any harm. I just want to see you happy. And Monsieur Sinclair seems like a nice sort of man."

"You noticed him looking at me…like that?" Meg murmured so lowly that her voice hardly traveled down the hallway.

"Oh yes," Christine responded instantly. "All the time…whenever you walked into the room he seemed to perk up. And several times, I heard him asking others where you were. But I must have been mistaken."

"No…you weren't mistaken. He did bring me flowers," Meg breathed, holding a hand over her heart as if she were afraid it would burst out of her chest. "I am sorry…I think I need to be by myself for a moment. I will talk to you later…" Turning so quickly that her practice skirts whirled about her knees, Meg took off down the hallway, heading straight to where Erik was currently standing just around the corner.

Cursing silently, Erik jerked out of sight just before Meg came careening around the corner. Watching her flee, the masked man shook his head. _I wonder what Conner did to her today. She looks like she just had the rug pulled out from under her feet._ Listening carefully, he noted that Christine had not moved from her spot down the hallway. Quickly moving down along the wall he was leaning against, he pushed a specific stone and slipped through a small door that opened up behind him. Racing stealthily through the blackness beyond him, he came to the mirror room within seconds. Opening the plate of glass, he slipped into Brielle's empty and locked bedroom. Throwing open the latch upon the door with a click, he retreated once more behind the protective shield of the giant mirror.

Waiting impatiently, Erik watched the door slowly creak open, just as he knew it would. A small bejeweled hand appeared on the wooden panel just before Christine's head poked into the room. Her dark eyes searched the shadows worriedly for a moment before she stepped further into the empty space.

"Hello? Is someone here?" she called out as she hesitated in the doorway.

"Come in and shut the door, child," Erik commanded, pitching his voice in such a way that he was certain she would do exactly as she was told.

The girl stiffened where she stood, her face going slack and pale as her overlarge eyes turned to stare at the mirror. Christine stood frozen in mid-action at the door for several breathless seconds, and Erik began to worry that whatever it was in her that had always responded to his voice had faded. But then, as if moving in a dream, the vicomtesse glided into the room, pushing the door shut behind her.

Standing behind the mirror, Erik allowed himself a moment to study her fine-boned face. He acknowledged her natural beauty, which only seemed to have increased over the last year, but did not feel the automatic reaction of possession he had come to associate with her frail appearance. He didn't feel the obsessive pull or the need to protect her. Just as when he had looked at her picture he felt only a weak sense of anger, and even that seemed to fade because now that his eyes were no longer covered by the ideal she had once represented to him he could see that she was really just a pretty girl.

Before his very eyes, the sparkling image of her he had built up in his memory faded, replaced with the sight of the tired and wary woman standing before him now. Relaxing his stance, Erik felt like all the festering fury remaining within him was washing away, rolling out of him on a cleansing wave of enlightenment.

"I know it is you…" Christine murmured shakily. "Are you really there or are you…a…"

"A ghost?" Erik supplied when Christine's voice faltered. "No, child. I am still very much alive. Sorry to disappoint…I know you came an awfully long way to lay me to rest. I figured it was better to tell you now that there is no body for you."

"Please…" A flicker of fear flashed over her face as she pressed herself back against the door. "Please, stop this…come out and face me if you wish to torture me further."

Receiving her plea with open irritation, Erik mentally went over his words, knowing that he had said nothing torturous at all. _Is it me that has changed? Why did I not see how excitable she was before?_ Feeling that there was no danger in showing himself, Erik smoothly stepped from behind the mirror and out into the room. Christine's eyes widened even further at the sight of him, her gaze moving over his figure in a feverish, disbelieving stare. Standing perfectly still, he allowed this scrutiny without the normal spike of unease that a stare usually instilled.

"Have you come here for revenge, my poor angel?" Christine finally asked, looking as if she were on the verge of a faint at any moment. "I knew someday this would come. Like Judas I knew I would suffer for my betrayal."

His brows drawing down into a fierce glare, Erik abandoned any form of gentleness in the face of her quickly escalating hysteria. Drawing his shoulders back and raising his chin, he schooled his features into a stern frown, easily stepping into the commanding role of the teacher he once had been. "Be silent," he demanded harshly, bringing a quick end to her babbling.

Christine stared at him, slack-jawed, as he calmly pulled out a chair and sat down. "I find it shocking, madame, that you have enough ego to consciously place yourself into the same realm with Biblical characters."

Blushing furiously at his quietly delivered condemnation, the vicomtesse opened her mouth in protest. "Well…I…"

"Did I or did I not tell you to be silent?" Erik cut her off before she could get more than a few mumbled words out. Pinning her against the door with a quelling stare, the masked man cleared his throat and continued. "Despite what you may believe I haven't the least bit of interest in punishing you for what you did to me, horrendous though it may have been."

Sagging slightly in relief, Christine bit her lower lip. "Why not?"

Pausing for a moment, Erik wondered that himself. _You would think I would be furious…facing her. But, strangely enough, I am not._ "Many things can happen within a year. A person, even one such as me, can learn to forgive my transgressors. Someone smarter than I taught me that."

Hearing the softening of his tone, Christine uncertainly straightened, a question rising up behind her eyes even though she did not appear to be brave enough to voice it. "Yes," Erik continued, knowing exactly what she was thinking, though she was silent. "Even one as ugly as I has been able to converse with other human beings besides you. Though it may surprise you, you are not the sun and the moon. My world did not end after you left nor did my life. I lived on despite your hasty departure."

"That is not what I was thinking!" Christine cried out, though the guilt over her own thoughts was clearly pressed over her face.

"Yes it was," Erik replied, his sigh colored with just a touch of pity. _To think I used to be so lost that a year ago her thought might have been true._

Taut silence filled the room, heavy with unpleasant memories and current tensions. Christine looked down to the floor, no longer able to meet Erik's eye. "I never meant to hurt you," she whispered, as two fat tears slipped down her shock-whitened cheeks. "I have been thinking about you ever since that night…"

Rising to his feet, Erik casually straightened his coat. "Take a little advice from your former teacher, child. Let the regret go. You cannot change what you did…nor do I wish you could. If you had not done what you did, my life would not be as it is now. I admit I share some blame in what happened. I see now how truly inappropriate my attentions to you were. I saw your grief and mistakenly assumed you would understand mine. Because of this, I could not see that you were just a child. Do not bother to guiltily think of me…for I will not think of you."

"You have changed," Christine breathed shakily, staring at him as if she were looking at a stranger. "What happened here? You seem…so…different."

Looking to the side his thoughts turned to the woman whom had caused these changes to occur. "Hmm, perhaps I am. I had several good role models to emulate."

"Who?" Christine dared to ask. When Erik didn't answer she repeated the question a little more forcefully her eyes darting away from him to stare across the room at where the music box he had made Aria sat. "Who!"

Unaware of her new focus the masked man smiled ironically and shook his head. "Do not concern yourself."

Christine opened her mouth to protest his dismissal but he waved his hand to silence her, wanting very to be done with her. Feeling he had said his piece, Erik turned and strolled over to the mirror, the remaining shadows within his soul burning away as his thoughts once again turned to the woman even now sleeping within his home. Behind him, he heard Christine clamor away from the door, coming toward him across the room. "Wait, don't go. I have so much I still don't understand."

Ignoring her plea, he stepped over the threshold to his secret passage without a hint of hesitation. "Go back to your husband, madame. I am sure he must miss you terribly." Turning to look back at her one last time, Erik felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. _It feels like I am leaving something behind…like I am finally moving forward. _

"Goodbye, Christine." Sliding the mirror home with a soft click, Erik turned and strolled back into the darkness of his underground world. Behind him, he could hear the muffled pounding of Christine's fists upon the glass but he did not stop, and did not look back. He knew now that though he might think of her occasionally, he would never look back again. _I have buried her just as surely as she had wanted to bury me. It is over…_


	58. A Warning From Beyond

**Hey all! Gosh this update has been a long time coming. Sorry about that. This last week made it almost impossible to write. Midterms and then me having to pick up someone else's shifts at work really set me back. But anyway hope you enjoy this update despite the long wait!**

**A huge thanks to Terpsichore for her great editing skills! She is the best…Oh and also thanks to all of you great reviewers! I love hearing from each and every one of you. (Oh and I didn't mention this last week but I need to give a special thanks to all the new reviewers! Especially the two who reviewed for just about every chapter! You guys are great!) **

Chapter 58: Warning from Beyond

With a soul-chilling shiver racing up his spine, Andrew started awake with a jerk. Sucking in an unsteady breath, the young lord stilled under the satin sheets, his black eyes flying open to stare up at the shadowed canopy above him. Raising a hand from under the covers to press against his racing heart, Andrew struggled to place what exactly it was that had awakened him. Listening to the silence of the sleeping house around him, he heard nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that should have made him come awake with his heart in his throat and a cold sweat clinging to his skin. _Perhaps it was just a dream. It was just another bloody dream._

That comforting thought had barely crossed his mind when Andrew got the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Another shiver tickled over his flesh as he stilled upon the bed, turning the full focus of his mind to the dark room around him. As before he heard nothing out of the ordinary, but the feeling remained; from the darkness eyes bored into his back, making his skin itch in protest to the intense scrutiny. On full alert now, Andrew turned his head subtly to the side, towards where he was certain the intruder was watching him from, feigning sleep as he slowly gazed about the room.

In the far corner, sitting casually in a tall-backed leather chair, sat a man. Though his face and most of his body were obscured in shadow, Andrew noticed how neatly the man's hair was combed back from his forehead and the fine cut of his dark clothing. Something unexplainable about the faceless stranger set Andrew's nerves on edge, creating a deep seated sense of dread to churning within his stomach. The man hadn't moved, hadn't even appeared to breathe, and yet Andrew distinctly felt the threat emanating from his still figure.

Reaching under his pillow Andrew pulled out a small pistol then sitting up in his bed he leveled the weapon at the intruder with deadly calm, ignoring the gooseflesh raising up upon his arms. "Do not move sir or I will blow your brains out," Andrew hissed at the stranger, clicking back the hammer of the gun to punctuate his words.

"Too late for that I think, Andrew," the man replied in a whisper-soft voice that floated through the air like a funeral bell.

A quick panicked jolt shot through Andrew's system as he thought he recognized the cultured inflections in that voice, quiet though it was. The accent, the wording seemed to speak directly out of the past, for the stranger's voice was no other than his brother's. For a brief, unsteady moment, Andrew felt the years fall away behind him, leaving him reeling as he struggled to rationalize what was happening. _No, that isn't right…this is wrong. _He knew he must have misheard for he was certain that it was John sitting across from him. _That cannot be. I am imagining things. It is not his voice…he is dead._

"What?" he managed to blurt out through numbed lips.

The shadowed figure didn't move, but something in the atmosphere changed, sending a wintry charge through the air, throwing the room into a blanket of cold, bitter as the grave. Waiting, tensed for a reply, Andrew watched as his own breath froze in the air before his face. Then slowly the man in the chair turned his head slightly to the side, allowing a bar of moonlight to fall over his pale face, over John's distinctly scarred face.

"Well, that is simple, _brother_, for, you see, I think it is a little late for you to be threatening me now." Looking to the side, one corner of John's mouth pulled up into an ironic smile as he raised a finger to trace over the small round bullet wound in the middle of his forehead. "It would just be a little redundant for you to 'blow my brains out,' and, of all the things you are, Andrew, you have never been one to have to repeat yourself."

Feeling the gun slip from his numbed fingers to bounce harmlessly onto the bed sheets, Andrew felt physically ill. Closing his eyes, the young lord took several rocky breaths. "This isn't real. This isn't real. You are dead and buried this isn't real," he willed himself to believe his own chant as he felt the terrorized guilt climb up the back of his throat like a scream, choking the breath from his lungs.

"Funny how the things we do in the dark always seem to come into the light…eventually."

Opening his eyes when shutting them failed to dissipate the specter, Andrew pressed himself back against the headboard, shaking from the cold as it seeped painfully into his bones. "This isn't…"

"But it is real, Andrew. You remember what happened. You have dreamed about it enough times. That is why you drink so much now, to forget the dreams, but still you remember."

"Stop it…"

"You remember how the jealousy ate away at you, burning holes in your mind until you could think of nothing but what you didn't have, of what I had."

"No."

"Until the moment that murder seemed less painful a thing than living with that agony, until the moment you put the barrel to my head and pulled the trigger."

Banging a fist against the headboard, behind him Andrew shook his head. "That is not how it was. You always lied about me! You always judged me. I could see it in your eyes, John. You and father both!"

"You know I didn't. Perhaps, the judgment you saw in us was only a reflection of what you felt for yourself."

"Shut up! You always knew everything, didn't you? Always so understanding and wise. How was anyone supposed to compete with that? Just one little selfish thought, just one moment of conceit and I was less than you! _ME! _The firstborn and I was less than you! And when I had finally found something…someone…that I knew could fix what was wrong within me…you took it away from me! Again!"

When the shadowed figure didn't move during this tirade, Andrew fell suddenly silent, the decades-old bitterness within him clogging his throat. Horrified by his own unstable behavior, the young lord bit down hard, grinding his teeth together furiously. The quick flash of anger faded and Andrew paled. _What am I doing…this isn't real. I cannot be having an argument with my dead brother._ "Why is this happening?" he breathed raggedly as he raised both hands to cover his face.

"You know why…"

Shaking his head, Andrew refused to answer the phantom voice, but John's quiet English broke through the quiet nonetheless. "I do not like what you are doing, Andrew…what you are planning on doing. Let her go, brother. There is nothing in this world that can fix what is broken within you now. You are far beyond that."

"And what if I do not stop?" Andrew challenged, searching for his little brother's eyes among the shadows.

Sinking back into the darkness around him, John's outline faded, becoming one with the night. "Then you will die."

Gasping aloud, Andrew jerked violently upright in bed, his heart battering against his ribcage so brutally he was sure his ribs would break. With his eyes darting fearfully about the room, he clambered out of the bed, falling heavily to the floor when his legs became tangled in the sheets. Pain shot up his elbows as he lay upon the carpets, shocking him back into reality. Turning his head, he stared at the rather ordinary chair across the room were only moments ago he had seen his dead brother sitting. It was empty now, but he swore he could still feel a tomb-like chill spiking through the air.

Slowly his heart stopped bucking within his chest, leaving him feeling giddy as the fear stagnated and dissipated. Sitting up painfully, Andrew looked down at the angry red welts upon his elbows. Unbidden a burst of relieved laughter bubbled up the back of his throat, his shoulders shaking as he leaned back against a nearby dresser.

"It was just a dream after all," he murmured to himself as he closed his eyes tiredly. "I knew it. It was just a bloody dream." His laughter took on a slightly hysterical tinge as he climbed to his feet and walked over to the window. Dropping down onto the window seat, he gazed down over the black expanse of the nighttime Paris skyline. Leaning his clammy forehead against the cool panes of glass, he forced what remained of his fear to the side, falling back to the cool logic which was so comforting to him.

Andrew sat like that for hours, hunched upon the brocade cushions with his knees pulled up to his chin, his eyes tracing the outlines of the darkened buildings below as the sun rose sluggishly over the horizon. _She is out there…right now. Only blocks away…Finally I won't have to worry anymore…Finally, after ten years of waiting, she will be mine. Everything will be fine…_Glad for the light of dawn and thoughts of Brielle, the young lord smiled. The terror of the night faded from his mind as he listed the things he had to go over that day. One of the many foreign companies he owned was in the middle of a very lucrative takeover; the thoughts of meetings and figures filled his head and allowed him to think of nothing else.

Calmer now, he climbed stiffly to his feet, crossing the room to dress himself in silence, unwilling to wait for one of the servants to assist him. Straightening his silk cravat, he hurried down the stairs of his townhouse and out the front door, ignoring the blurry-eyed curiosity of his butler as he passed the older man in the hall. _I feel so foolish…believing that John was actually there, _he thought sourly as he strolled down the empty street._ My god, I thought I had lost my mind for a moment. Perhaps I should see a doctor to get something to help me sleep. A little laudanum should certainly make sure I don't see anything I don't wish to from now on. _

Making his way through the early morning hush to his Paris office, Andrew let himself in, knowing that the clerks would not arrive for at least an hour. Sitting behind his massive desk, the young lord looked over some of the paperwork from the day before. Noticing a new envelope sitting to one side, Andrew picked it up and smiled at the return address printed neatly upon the white paper. It was from his lawyers. Pulling out the papers within, Andrew read over the custody contracts quietly, his dark eyes lighting up as he took out a pen and signed the bottom of the last page.

Sitting back in his chair he set his pen down. Aria now legally belonged to him. Staring at his own flowing signature he couldn't help but feel a second of doubt. A flickering of unease broke through his triumph, pushing his smile down into a frown. _If I do this…there won't be any going back. _His brother's final words rose up in his mind though he had spent hours trying very hard to forget them.

"_I do not like what you are doing, Andrew…what you are planning on doing. Let her go."_

His hands shook upon the desk as the guilt swamped his senses. _What am I doing? What am I doing?_ Pushing the paperwork away from him, Andrew rubbed his hands over his face, feeling as if he were on the edge of some important epiphany but was afraid to take that final step into the unknown. _Have I gone too far? Have I allowed my one bid for redemption to be the very thing that corrupted my soul? Brielle…Bri…why didn't you just choose me? Why couldn't I have been seen as the better one for once in my life? _Agony tore at his mind as these long buried questions refused to be squelched any longer.

_I have the choice…I could just walk away. _And for a moment he imagined that he loved her enough to truly let her go, but all too soon the moment was overcome by the years of focused anger and repressed conceited selfishness that had been festering within him. Turning deliberately, he opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a bottle of brandy. Tilting the bottle back, he took several desperate gulps without taking a breath. Setting the liquor aside, he waited as the effects of the alcohol warmed his blood and wrapped a soothing fog around his mind. He no longer felt as if he were balancing on the edge of some terrifying enlightenment.

The unease faded, the bad memories faded, and Andrew felt his brutal self control return, felt the dark boiling power of his obsession blow over his senses like a hurricane. Abandoning the doubt and the moment of insight he had felt so near, Andrew calmly took a deep breath. His expression freezing cold and hard as a stone statue, the young lord pulled out a blank sheet of paper to pen a note to his lawyers. Stuffing the letter and the signed custody contract into a new envelope, he set it aside to be delivered later. Everything would move forward as he had planned, and now just to prove to himself he was not wavering in his decisions, he wrote a second note to the managers of the Opera. Within the letter he suggested that a masked ball be held on the night of the theater's reopening, knowing full well the whole time that they would not refuse their patron his request.

_No more doubt. I know what I must do now. She will be mine…if I have to murder half the people in Paris to get to her. And just to make sure her heart no longer wanders, I will put that blasted masked man into his grave. No more tricks…no more deceit…no, this time I will just have to be more direct. Direct as a bullet through the brain. _

_She will be mine…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Snuggling down into the mound of blankets covering her bed, Brielle tried to ignore the annoying chill that sent a shiver skipping down her spine. Opening one eye, she glared at the far wall when the gooseflesh puckered the skin along her arms. With a groan she gave up on her bid to go back to sleep. Rolling over, she flung out her arm to the other side of the bed, smiling as she searched for Erik's warm body among the sheets. The smile fell from her lips when her fingers met only the impression of where his body had been, cool now from his evidently long absence.

Sitting up, she looked around the room in confusion, finding no sign of the masked man anywhere. Pulling a sheet up to cover her naked body, she threw her legs over the edge of the bed and padded over to the door. Sticking her head out into the hall, she called his name but got no response.

Retreating back into her room, Brielle wrapped the sheet more securely around herself to fend off the remaining chill. Suddenly, the absolute quiet of the room around her was a little unnerving. _I had forgotten…that this place is so far underground. He worked hard to make this place seem like a home, but still…really it is more a stone tomb than anything._ Looking up briefly, Brielle moved to the wardrobe standing in the corner of the room. Opening one of the doors, she gazed in at the lovely clothes within, knowing full well that each and every dress had been made for another woman.

Pulling out a pretty pale blue day dress she threw off the sheet and donned the proper layers of undergarments. Struggling slightly with the clothing that had obviously been tailored to a thinner body type, Brielle buttoned the tiny row of white buttons up her front, barely able to close the top buttons of the bodice over her chest. _By the saints, that girl must have eaten air to be this thin! _Brielle thought sourly, careful to keep her breathing shallow in order to not strain the already tight fit any more than necessary.

Turning, she moved to peer at herself in the full-length mirror that rested against one wall. The frown slowly eased from her expression as she studied her reflection. Smoothing her hands down the intricately embroidered bodice, she couldn't help but feel a pleased flush work its way into her cheeks. The powder blue silk set off the deeper tones in her eyes, giving them the soft look of antiqued silver, and though it was tight, the cut was finely tailored. Plucking a box of hair pins from the dresser top, she swept her hair up in a simple bun atop her head. _Well, I may not be able to breathe, but damned if Erik didn't have good taste. I haven't worn a dress this lovely in a long time. _

Her spirits buoyed slightly, she smiled and swept out the door and into the organ room. Pausing in the doorway, she looked about the room. Only about half of the space was illuminated now, most of the thick white candles standing unlit in their holders, the shadows adding to the quiet, almost abandoned, feel of the area. Absently running her fingers over the soft silk of the gown, Brielle shook off another wave of trepidation and moved forward. _How did he not go mad down here by himself? It is so quiet…like I am the only person in the world. _

Needing something to busy her mind from the fact that she was alone in a place she had no idea how to get out of, Brielle moved to a table and pushed in all the chairs. Stacking up some scattered books, she hefted the volumes and carefully returned them to a nearby bookshelf. Relaxing now that she didn't have to think about how eerily the lake stretched off into the darkness to her right, she began to gather up the crumpled pieces of paper that were strewn all over the floor near the organ. Dumping all of the rejected compositions into a trash bin, she couldn't help but wonder at how disorderly Erik was when he was concentrating on his music. There were literally piles of forgotten balls of parchment everywhere around his organ and the nearby writing desk.

"Ach, what a slob," she mumbled on a half laugh as she reached out to snatch up another balled piece of paper just to the side of the desk. "Who would have thought how messy he is? He is always so careful about his appearance…"

On the verge of tossing this last ball in the trash with the others, she noticed that, unlike the others, it did not have staff lines. Turning back a corner with one finger, she was able to see the bold lines and shadows of a charcoal drawing. _I didn't know he drew. _Setting down the trash bin, Brielle straightened, smiling as she eagerly smoothed out the paper on the desktop. The striking girl upon the page was immediately recognizable. Brielle slipped downward into a nearby chair as she stared down at Christine's smiling face. Something within the Irishwoman's heart ripped open as she pushed the drawing to the side, trying desperately to steady her suddenly shallow breathing.

_He drew her…_she thought numbly, the hurt washing within her like a crashing wave. The loneliness of the empty room pressed in around her once again, leaving her shaken as she listened to the echo of her own breathing sounding overloud in her ears. Pursing her lips together, she fought for some semblance of control of her quickly downward spiraling emotions. _Stop being so dramatic. He can do as he pleases…it is just a drawing. It was on the blessed floor after all…_

Sighing, Brielle raised a hand up to cover her eyes. _I don't know why this should bother me so. I just hate the constant reminder of her…of the fact that he must still hold some affection for her. Why else would a man keep all her things? That is why I stopped him before he could tell me he loved me…I didn't want him to just repeat my words back to me. Not when he still carries someone else within his heart. _

Reaching out, she slowly crushed the charcoal picture up in one hand, sliding the ball off the edge of the desk as she gazed off to one side. _Eventually…eventually I think he will be able to put her behind him. I will make sure of it._ Startled out of her dark musings by the sound of the slap of oars against still water, Brielle glanced up, peering into the shadows just beyond the flickering circle of light from the candles. The clanking of metal chains had her standing up. Somewhere in the dark a large metal portcullis was grinding upward and out of the water, sending small waves into the light. A moment later the bow of the familiar two-person boat came into view, and as Erik expertly rowed the boat up to the dock, he began singing merrily, his voice ringing through the stone vaults of the cellars beautifully.

Forgetting for a moment her disturbing discovery, Brielle felt her forehead pucker as she wondered at his unusually good mood. The masked man hopped out of the boat and alighted on the dock without a sound, tying off the ropes in the blink of an eye. When he turned toward her, his face shinning with an exhilaration she had never seen before, Brielle felt her heart skip a beat. Moving toward her quickly with the natural long-legged grace of a dancer, Erik flashed her a brilliant smile.

"What has got you into such a good mood?" Brielle asked a bit breathlessly, her heart picking up speed as Erik drew up directly in front of her.

"Oh, nothing. Just tossing out a bit of old baggage," he murmured, his eyes slipping not so subtly from her face to travel appreciatively down the length of her silk clad body.

A faint change came over his expression then, the slightest tightening of lips and narrowing of his eyes, that made Brielle's mouth go dry. "Hmm, sounds terribly boring. I…eh…I…"

Taking an unwavering step forward, the smile flickered back across his face, but now there was a dangerous longing in his windswept blue eyes in place of the laughter. "Yes, terribly boring," he agreed easily, raising a finger to briefly slide over her silk sleeve.

Gaping up at him wordlessly, Brielle felt a delighted shiver spread out from where his fingers touched her, the heat of his hand warming her skin until she was sure her blood would boil. Something had changed within him, she could see it as clearly as the flinty specks of midnight blue in his eyes. This was the first time he had purposely touched her without the slightest sign of uncertainty. There was a confidence lighting his face and guiding his actions now that had not been there before. The shadows within him seemed to have been burned away amongst the heat she saw practically radiating from every fiber of his being.

"This color suits you. I always knew you would look breathtaking in silk," he murmured as his fingers whispered up her sleeve to her shoulder, pausing at the swooping neckline where his eyes dropped to where his hand hovered. "This one has buttons in the front," he whispered as if to himself.

Biting her lower lip, Brielle could only nod, finding that her voice had completely deserted her. His gaze returning to her face, Erik raised his other hand to gently cup her flushed cheek. "I am sorry you had to wake up alone. I thought I would be back sooner."

"No need to apologize…no harm done."

"No…no harm…but you see for quite some time now I have wondered what it would be like to wake up next to you. I suppose that particular pleasure will have to be put off for a later time," he said quietly, the timbre of his voice lowering into a purr. The power of his tone sent a fine tremor through Brielle's body as her mind went completely blank; the memory of the drawing draining away until she thought of nothing but his eyes and his touch.

"Why wait?" she sighed, stepping toward the welcoming warmth of his body as he tilted her face up to his.

He brushed his lips over hers gently for a moment as if testing the waters, his eyes remaining open and watchful the whole time. When she reached up to curl her arms around his neck, it appeared to be all the encouragement he needed. The hand upon her face slid back to bury in her hair, loosening the bun enough to send several hair pins flying, and the world beneath her feet seemed to drop away forcing her to cling to his support for balance. Breaking away from her for a moment, Erik sucked in a deep breath, letting it out again on a low growl, the vibrations of the sound sending thrills of excitement through Brielle where she was pressed against him.

"You do not regret all of this do you?" Erik wondered aloud, his thumb smoothing reverently over the sensitive skin of her temple.

"Of course not," she replied instantly. "How could I?"

"Oh, you would be surprised how easy it would be," he murmured as he began plucking out the remaining pins from her hair. "To just turn away." Lowering his head, he pressed a warm kiss against her slightly parted lips. "Many times I have wanted to do just that. You are a terribly frightening woman, Bri." Running his lips up and over her cheek in a series of feather-light caresses, he smiled against her skin. "You can make a man forget his own mind. Had it been anyone besides you I think I would have never been able to leave the Phantom within me behind."

Tilting her head back, she gave into his bone melting ministrations with a sigh. "Such things you say, sir," she breathed. "One would think you are trying to seduce me."

Pausing near her ear, Erik rested his cheek against hers. "Good, because that is exactly what I am trying to do."

The urge to laugh at the arrogance she heard in his words bubbled up within Brielle, but Erik turned his head just then, his lips sliding possessively over hers, swallowing the happy sound. Eagerly returning his embrace, the laughter almost instantly faded, replaced now with rolling waves of searing heat. They stumbled when Erik's foot caught on the edge of her gown, nearly sending them both to the ground but neither one broke contact. Teasing her mouth open, Erik changed the mood of the kiss, giving it an impatient, desperate feeling.

His hands moved to her front, popping the small white buttons out of their stays until the lace of her chemise peeked out of the growing opening. Feeling a familiar tension begin to coil deep within her abdomen she slid his coat from his shoulders. At the touch of her hands upon him, Erik nearly ripped the last several buttons in his haste to slide the silk from her body. The wildness in his actions drove her beyond reason, every inch of her body burning where his hands roamed.

Nipping upon his bottom lip in a reflex, she tore at his shirt until it hung in tatters over his heaving chest. He growled ferally against her mouth pushing her backward until she rammed into the edge of the table. Ignoring the momentary flash of pain where wood met flesh, Brielle raked her nails down Erik's tensed back. Gripping her hips, he lifted her easily until she sat on the tabletop, her legs wrapping around his waist, dragging him forward until the evidence of his desire was pressed intimately against her. Lavishing open-mouthed kisses over his bare chest, she yanked the remains of his shirt free of his body. Circling her tongue wickedly around one of his nipples, she felt a burst of animalistic pride when he let out a guttural moan.

"God woman!" he exclaimed, his voice a rough and dangerous whisper in her ear. "You are going to drive me mad."

Flashing a searing come hither look up at him she slowly arched her back, bringing her face that much closer to his. "Do you want to stop then, _maestro_?" she purred, purposely accentuating the title with stirrings of blatant sexuality. A small gasp escaped Erik's throat at her phrasing, as if he couldn't manage to make any other sound. Licking her lower lip, she raised one hand to trace along his jaw, silently drawing his head down toward her.

"No? Then, by all means, conduct me."

A flash of undiluted lust burst brightly behind his eyes as he dragged her from the tabletop, crushing her slight, half-clothed body, to him. There was no time for words now as his lips and hands assaulted her from all sides. Struggling to keep up with the frenzied fervor of his attentions, Brielle hardly noticed as they stumbled their way out of the organ room and down the hall, knocking over knick knacks of all sorts in their haste to wade through the odd assortment of furniture in their way. Passing her room, they fell against the closed door of his, the force of their combined weight shaking the plank of wood in its hinges. Their hands were so busy grappling to bring bare skin to bare skin that it took several minutes for the door handle to finally be jimmied open.

Caught off guard by the sudden in swing of the door, they fell through the open space and onto the carpeted floor beyond. Landing on top of Erik's chest, Brielle stilled for a moment as she tried to catch her breath, her loose hair falling over her shoulder to brush over his bare skin. His eyes glittering through the shadows of the unlit room, Erik raised a hand and twined his fingers through her hair, gently pulling her downward as he wound a lock about his hand. The frenzied pace slowed then, like the fleeting calm before a storm, but the intensity did not fade from their expressions as they studied one another. Running her hands up the length of his body, Brielle marveled at the strength that lay just under her touch, the corded muscles of his torso shuddering when her lips followed the path of her fingers.

Working her way up to his face, she touched the bottom edge of his mask as he reached behind her to begin unlacing the back of her cream-colored corset. Pausing for a moment, Brielle raised her head and frowned. Tracing a finger along the white leather she sighed. "Take this off for me…"

So intent was he on the task of loosening her corset, it took Erik a moment to register her words. "What?" he asked blandly, too distracted by the swell of her cleavage to pay much attention.

Tapping a finger against the mask to get his attention, she repeated herself. "Take it off for me."

The characteristic crease appeared between his brows, signifying his unease as he stared searchingly up at her, the desire warring with the doubt behind his eyes. "Brielle," he moaned. "I do not think…"

"I want to feel your face under my lips…your whole face…every plane and valley until I know it as well as my own," she whispered in his ear, feeling his body tense in reaction to her breathy words. "I want you to see me without its shadow. I want you to be inside me knowing that I accept every inch of you without fear. Is that too much to ask?"

His mouth fell open slightly as he studied her with hot, hooded eyes. Then slowly he raised his hand to his face, and, after taking a deep breath, pulled the covering free. The shadows of the room limned his features in a silvery half light, softening the horrific visage on the right side of his face and highlighting the hard, rugged planes of the left. After the initial shock of seeing him without the immobile frown of the mask, Brielle felt a smile slide across her lips. It was so odd to see the play of emotions over his entire face that she felt suddenly light-headed.

Leaning forward, she placed a tender kiss on his cheek, just under his sagging right eye, feeling the heat of his flush burning against her mouth. "That is better now," she murmured, one hand sliding downward to unhook his belt. Jerked into motion once again by her touch, Erik dropped his mask onto the floor next to his head, a faint expression of relief flickering across his face. Pulling the sagging corset off, Brielle tossed her hair over her shoulder to get it out of her face.

"Should we not retire to the bed?" Erik rasped as he slid the white-lace-trimmed sleeve of her chemise from her shoulder.

"Why waste the time?" Brielle asked as she shrugged out of the last of her clothing and began unbuttoning his trousers. He opened his mouth in automatic question but forgot his words when she pulled his pants off, leaving nothing between them but air shivering with anticipation. Biting her bottom lip, Brielle didn't leave him time to wonder before she lowered herself onto him, moving instinctively when he raised startled hands to her hips.

They moved together slowly at first, too caught up with every burning sensation to think beyond the delicious tension pulling tighter and tighter within them. But then the pace increased as their blood quickened and their patience thinned. Arching her back in the darkness, Brielle let herself go; falling over the edge of the precipice Erik had so quickly brought her to. Dimly she felt Erik follow her over, moaning her name into the silence of the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dozing in a pleasant haze of euphoria, Brielle felt a pair of strong arms wrap protectively about her waist. Opening her eyes she stretched lazily, trying to figure out just how long she had been lying next to Erik upon the floor. _My word, we must have worn each other out terribly. _Turning her gaze upward, she met Erik's focused blue-eyed stare with a smile.

"How long have you been staring at me like that?" she asked lightly, pressing a kiss against the curve of his shoulder.

"I told you before how I have wondered what it would be like to watch you awaken."

"And has your curiosity been assuaged?"

One corner of his mouth twitched up as he shook his head. "I think the matter deserves further study. I may be satisfied in a few years or so."

Sucking in a breath, Brielle tried not to read too much into his statement, even though she desperately wanted to imagine the rest of her life with him in it. Looking away, afraid he would see the keen longing in her eyes, Brielle forced herself to relax. "You presume a great deal, sir," she said airily, teasing him in order to distract from her moment of weakness.

His chest shook with laughter as he shook his head at her words, the right side of his face no longer seeming so fierce as the humor animated his deformity. "Do I? We will see, I suppose."

Falling silent then, they both simply listened to the sound of each other's breathing, content for the moment to just be next to each other. _I could stay like this forever. _Feeling her eyelids begin to droop sleepily again, Brielle stirred herself. Without conscious thought she wondered what Aria had been doing since she last saw her. Quickly the wondering turned to worry as the Irishwoman tried to remember exactly how long she had been apart from her daughter. _Sweet Mary, I don't even know how long it has been. There is no sun here to judge the days…the poor babe…how long has she been without me? _

Sitting up slightly at the thought, Brielle worried her lip between her teeth. "Erik, I think I should return upstairs soon," she said, voicing her concerns quickly.

"What? Why?" he asked, his voice taking on the same edge he always got when he was unpleasantly startled.

"Well I was just thinking that Conner has been taking care of Aria for a while now…and there is no telling what terror the two of them have been getting into. And I don't know what story he told to excuse my absence in the first place. I will be lucky if Carlotta doesn't fire me after all this."

Irritated lines bracketed Erik's mouth as he listened to her prattling on. "Do not concern yourself about Carlotta. You really do not have to work for her anymore anyway, which works out fine since I have never cared for how she speaks to you."

"Of course I still have to work. Don't be silly. I do not have enough saved to simply stop working."

Giving a dismissive shrug, Erik stretched an arm over his head in order to snag a throw blanket that was folded on the floor a couple feet away. "I am not being silly, as you say. Why do you need to slave away when you and Aria can stay here with me?"

His question dropped into silence like a stone down a dry well as Brielle tried to process what he had just said. _He wants us all to live down here, together? Here! _Even though Erik pulled the blanket up and over them a shiver shook over her skin. Looking around at her dim surroundings, she remembered what it had felt like to be alone in this place; without Erik the darkness and the grey stone walls had taken on an entirely sinister air. Just the thought of ever being left there on her own again made her feel ill.

"Do you really think that she would be happy down here, Erik?" Brielle asked gently.

"Why wouldn't she?"

"She is a child. The dark scares her sometimes and down here there is nothing but darkness."

Taking a breath as if to answer Erik closed his mouth again without saying a word. Disappointment darkened his face as he turned his head away from her. "No, you are right. This is no place for a family," he murmured, his mouth forming a hard line as his eyes flickered about the room. "You both deserve more than this place."

Laying her head back down into the crook of his shoulder, Brielle closed her eyes. Since he had so casually spoken of the future she likewise dared to speak of her hopes. "I won't have to work here forever. Eventually we can leave this place and find somewhere else…somewhere better."

Some strange dark mood seemed to seize control of him then, making his eyes sharpen as he held her closer. "If only I could help you in that endeavor. I have no skills outside of this place to earn an honest wage and my past bars me from showing my face here," he mumbled to himself so quietly Brielle wasn't sure if she heard him correctly. "That is what a man is supposed to do…support his family."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Shaking his head Erik threw off the odd mood and raised a hand to brush her cheek softly. "Never mind, I will take you back up tomorrow." Not trusting his apparent calm but having no other choice but to accept it, Brielle merely nodded her head, and snuggling closer to his side she stared off worriedly across the room. _Why do I have the terrible feeling that things are not going to be as smooth as I thought? _


	59. Something in Common

**Hey all! Here is the next chapter for you! Thanks so much for all of the great reviews! You guys are awesome…and extremely articulate too! I love hearing from each and every one of you. **

**And of course a huge thanks to Terpsichore. She makes my job so much easier because she is a genius. Especially, since she has a new job now and still manages to squeeze my chapters in! So thanks to her!**

**Oh…and sorry to all of you who didn't get the chapter alert right away last week. There was something crazy going on then. Hopefully the alerts will work better this week. But anyway enjoy the chapter!**

Chapter 59: Something in Common

Biting her lip in concentration, Meg stared up at the street sign before her, ignoring the flow of foot traffic making its way around her. With a sigh she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her bodice. Checking the hastily scrawled directions, she crossed the street and continued on her way towards one of the city's leading hospitals, where Conner had told her that Brielle was staying. Hurrying down the series of streets that were listed on the directions she felt a little breathless from the worry that had been plaguing her all week long.

_Conner said that it wasn't anything serious, but then why would she need to go to the hospital? She didn't even seem sick before he took her there. I feel terrible for not noticing anything. Conner should have said something earlier. Although would I have listened? Half the things he says I don't believe. Lord, I am a terrible friend!_

Frowning now, Meg looked down at the basket of cookies in her left hand, thinking what a poor gift they seemed now that she was practically at the hospital's door. _I should have come to visit sooner…but I couldn't get Conner to tell me where she was._ Shifting the basket nervously, Meg started up the gray stone steps toward the sober, aesthetically unpleasing building looming over her. Even before she reached to open the door, the sharp odor of antiseptic wafted to her with a gust of wind, barely masking the unmistakable stench of sickness. Raising a startled hand to her nose, she tried to breathe through her mouth but it seemed the very stone at her feet held the whispers of what lay inside.

_God, I hate hospitals, and this one is actually one of the nicer ones in the city._ Shaking her head, Meg squared her shoulders and opened the front door. Hurrying across the black and white checkered floor, she made her way to a large desk which she assumed was the place to go to ask for information. Standing before the neatly ordered workspace, Meg waited for the thin woman sitting on the other side of the desk to stop typing and notice her. When the woman made no move to look up, Meg politely cleared her throat, getting a sharp, irritated glare from the woman for her troubles.

"Can I help you?" the woman snapped, making it rather obvious that Meg's presence was an annoyance.

Frowning slightly at the terse tone, Meg smoothed a hand down her hip, feeling just a little bit out of her element in these full-length skirts and street shoes. "Yes, I am here to visit a friend."

"Yeah? Well, aren't they all? Does your friend have a name, mademoiselle, or do you want me to have to sit here and guess it for you?" the woman sniffed in reply, going back to her typing when Meg sputtered indignantly.

Raising her chin slightly, Meg dropped the material of her skirts and stood straighter. "Her name is Brielle Donner," she said as airily as she knew how. "And I would appreciate it greatly if you would tell me her room."

Sighing heavily, the thin woman spun in her chair and pulled open a file drawer at her back. "Let us see now…Davont…De Clerk…Dumont… There is no Donner here, you have the wrong hospital." Turning back to face Meg, the woman flashed a forced smile, her eyes critically moving over the blonde's simple green day dress. "Perhaps you should try Mercy two blocks over. They take more patients from…your part of town," she finished as she pulled the paper from the typewriter and set it aside.

Outraged by the obvious insult she heard in the secretary's words, Meg leaned forward and slapped her hand on top of the pile of blank typing paper before the woman could grab a new piece. "No, I was told she is at this hospital," she growled a little more fiercely than she had intended, shocked all the while at her forceful reaction. "I walked ten blocks to get here and when I get back I will have about six hours of ballet practice to look forward to. So you can understand if I am not in the mood to put up with your lip." Removing her hand from the desk Meg straightened, glad to see the woman staring up at her in open-mouthed shock.

Waiting a beat, Meg found it in her to paste a smile of her face. "Perhaps you could look under Donovan," Meg stated slowly, as if speaking to an unruly child.

Nodding faintly, the woman turned and began rummaging through the files once more. Looking over her shoulder, the woman could only shrug. "I am not seeing that name either. Those are both British names though…and we haven't had any foreigners in here all month."

Frowning at this unexpected bit of news, Meg took a step back. _When I cornered Conner this morning I am sure he said that Brielle was here. I am sure of it because he even mentioned how far it was from the Opera house. But if she isn't here…then where the hell has she been all week! _Nodding her head at the secretary, Meg turned and rushed back toward the front door. Dropping her basket of cookies in the lap of a rather pale looking woman in a wheelchair, Meg merely waved when the patient called a thanks.

Striding as quickly as was seemly, Meg began the long trek back to the theater. _I cannot believe Conner got the hospital name wrong. I just cannot understand it…unless…unless he told me wrong on purpose. _Fisting her hands at her sides at the thought, Meg picked up her pace even though she knew that she was sure to wear herself out before practice. _God! What a jackass…leading me on some wild goose chase. And where in God's name is Bri!_ With each step she took, Meg's irritation quickly fanned into anger. She simply could not fathom a reason for Conner's deception, and though she didn't want to admit it, it hurt her to know that he didn't trust her with the secret he was keeping.

The time passed incredibly fast as Meg stalked down the cobbled side streets and wide thoroughfares, drawing several curious glances every time her thoughts tumbled audibly out of her mouth in a muttered grumble. She hardly even noticed the tired burning in her legs until she climbed the Opera's front stairs and threw open the front doors. Spotting some of the other ballerinas already in their practice uniforms Meg pulled one aside.

"Hey, do you know where Monsieur Sinclair is?"

Blinking at Meg's flushed face and agitated manner, the girl took a moment to find her voice. "Last time I saw him he was practicing pieces from the second act in his room. Well, heard really…I didn't actually see him…um…Meg, are you all right? You look positively livid."

Waving off the girl's curiosity, Meg merely swept passed her. "No, I am fine…or I will be anyway as soon as I tear some of that man's hide from his body."

Leaving the girl to gape after her, Meg picked up her skirts and hurried over the marble-lined floors of the front halls, the heels of her boots making a hollow clicking sound against the cool stone, quickly finding her way to the closeness of the backstage hallways. Narrowing her eyes when she passed through more shadowed areas, Meg was on the lookout for a very specific redhead in case he had chosen to come out of his room.

Not seeing Conner anywhere in the immediate stage area, Meg made a beeline for his room, her temper set on a fast boil by the time she stood outside his door. From within the room she could hear the flowing notes of violin music, a sure sign that her quarry was actually within. Trying to ignore the dreamy tingling she felt whenever she heard Conner playing, Meg pressed her mouth shut and threw open the closed door. Seeing Conner jump at her sudden entrance, Meg stood in the open doorway with both hands planted on her hips, girding herself for the battle to come.

Nearly dropping his bow when Meg threw the door open, Conner's music came to a screeching halt. Staring up at her with shocked, uncertain eyes as green as new leaves, he visibly gulped. "I didn't know you would be coming…er…Is there something the matter, Meg?" he finally asked, when it appeared that Meg was too busy fuming to say anything.

Stabbing a finger at Conner from her spot in the doorway, Meg silenced anything else the redhead would have said. "Is something the _matter_?" she repeated slowly, thinking about the two hours she had just wasted wandering around Paris.

Sensing that he was very near a tongue lashing, Conner hastily jumped to his feet, setting his violin aside on a nearby table. "Um, Meg…"

Coming a few steps into the room, Meg felt burning color climbing to her cheeks. "I would like you to know that I went to visit Brielle today," Meg stated as she crossed her arms over her chest, watching carefully as Conner openly winced at her words.

"Blast it all, Meg, you weren't supposed to go anytime soon. That hospital is ten blocks away from here. What addle-brained fool gave you a ride there?"

"No one gave me a ride, Monsieur Sinclair. I walked there."

Staring at Meg a moment in disbelief, Conner let out a heavy sigh. Turning from her, he raised a hand to his head, pulling several locks of bright red hair from the ribbon at the base of his neck. "God damn…maybe I should have said Saint Mary's instead. At least that one is in a rougher part of town."

Tilting her head to one side, Meg advanced further into the room. "What did you say!"

Spinning back around to face her again, Conner flashed an award-winning smile. "Oh nothing."

"Stop playing games with me, Monsieur Sinclair."

"Come now, I thought we agreed it is Conner from now on."

Ignoring the interruption, Meg barreled on. "I went to the hospital you said Brielle was staying in, but strangely enough they had no records of her ever staying there. Tell me where she is. And I want to know why you felt the need to lie to me as well."

His smile quickly fading, Conner took a step back, his eyes dropping to the floor as he obviously struggled to think of something to tell her. "Well, you see…"

Studying Conner's expression, it took her only moments to pinpoint the little crease in his forehead that always appeared when he was lying. Furious at his continued attempt at deceit, Meg felt her hands fist at her sides. _Even now he is still trying to lie. The arrogant idiot. _Turning, she slammed the door shut, cutting through the new lie that was falling from Conner's mouth. "Rethink that explanation, Monsieur Sinclair, until it is the truth."

Raising his hands in defeat, the redhead attempted to calm her with a soothing gesture, but Meg merely glared at him until he stilled. Dropping his arms back to his sides, Conner moved to a chair and sat down heavily. "All right, all right. I will tell you the truth. I probably should have told you to begin with, but this whole situation is complicated beyond all comprehension."

Remaining standing Meg merely nodded her head stiffly, too angry still to relax her battle stance. Watching her warily for a moment longer, Conner ran a finger absently over the nearby tabletop. "Bri hasn't been sick all this time and she hasn't set foot in a hospital."

"Then why in the world did you say that? And where is she?"

"Ach, lass, I don't know what compelled me to tell you that. It just seemed easier at the time to tell everyone the same story. I tend to be better at bending the truth rather than out-and-out lying. Never can keep track of all the little details that makes or breaks an untruth." Pausing there for a moment, Conner flashed a forced smile, looking more uncomfortable under her silent gaze with every passing moment. "I suppose I panicked when I fed you the story as well. It was a stupid thing to do."

Seeing how agitated that he was becoming, Meg finally took pity on him and moved to sit in one of the remaining chairs, though she was careful to keep her face impassive. It just wouldn't do for the blasted man to realize how hard it was for her to remain fuming when he sulked like a puppy. _I wish he would cut his hair shorter. It is far too hard to concentrate when it starts coming out of its ribbon like that. _Shaking free of her wandering thoughts, Meg let out a pent-up breath. "Where has Brielle been all this time, Conner?"

Tightening his mouth ever so slightly, Conner stared down at the table in deep contemplation. Watching him intently, Meg could practically see the wheels of thought turning within his head. He was obviously more worried about this question than the others, a fact which was more than just a little confounding. _God, is it impossible for him to just be candid for one moment in his life without thinking about it ahead of time._

"Though I do want to be honest with you, Meg, I am not sure if that is mine to tell," he said with a certainty that was lacking a moment ago.

Stunned by this turn of events, Meg could only look across the table at Conner for a moment. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, Brielle sort of accidentally ran off with someone."

This was not what Meg had expected to hear. "Huh?"

"Well, it wasn't exactly planned or anything. Actually there was a sort of accident that had her laid up for awhile. I believe she is better now, but she has been staying with…er…a friend."

The remaining edges of her anger faded, washed away on the waves of astonishment that rose up within her. "Bri has a lover!" she burst out, girlish excitement making her clasp her hands before her on the table, her weakness for romance and love affairs blatantly showing.

Making an odd sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a grunt, Conner frowned. "Yeah, hopefully by _now_ she does," he mumbled beneath his breath.

Feeling slightly guilty now for her earlier displays of temper, Meg slouched down slightly in her chair. _Oh my God, no wonder for all of the secrets. Not everyone wants to have their personal business gossiped around the theater. And poor Bri…she had to have a good excuse to get away from Carlotta. And it sounds like it was sort of unplanned. Though I do wish Conner had trusted me enough to just tell me. _Fiddling slightly with the trim running around the waist of her dress, Meg couldn't help but feel the hurt of not being included in Conner's circle of information.

"You should have told me instead of feeding me the bit about her being halfway across the city. I just got done wasting half my morning," Meg admonished with a frown, hoping all the while that Conner wouldn't notice the slight tremor in her voice. "I would have thought I could be trusted by now."

Reaching across the table, Conner caught up Meg's hands before she could pull them away. "I do trust you, lass," he said firmly, his ginger-colored brows drawing downward into a stern line as he cupped her smalls fists in his hands. "I do trust you. And I am sure Bri trusts you too."

"Well, you certainly have a funny way of showing it, Monsieur Sinclair."

"Lord a' mighty, it is Conner, lass."

"Monsieur, is it just some odd Irish custom then?"

"It's Conner."

Ignoring his interruptions, and finding a strange sense of satisfaction in annoying him, Meg merely continued on as if he hadn't spoken. "Or are you an exceptionally ill-mannered cad, monsieur?"

Huffing in response to her rather pointed barbs, Conner grew slightly red in the face and his eyes took on the gleam of broken soda bottles. Leaning forward across the small round table without tearing his eyes from her face, he forced her into silence with the closeness of his presence. "I cannot be having you calling me Monsieur Sinclair all the time," he practically growled.

Her eyes went large and round as she sat back in her chair, trying desperately to get further away from his sudden advance. Feeling slightly off balance at this unexpected change in the air, Meg found it difficult to form words. "Oh? And why not?"

One corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly into a rakish smile as he raised one hand up to twirl gently in a loose lock of hair near her temple. "Because I have been trying my damnedest to court you properly before I burst out saying how madly I have fallen in love with you. How you struck me to the bone the very first moment I saw you." His brow wrinkled slightly as the fingers weaving through her hair fell to caress her flushed face. "And I should think it rather odd for a lady to be calling her admirer monsieur."

A heavy silence filled the room after Conner's proclamation, leaving Meg feeling befuddled. _Love…he just said that he loved me… _Her mind was an absolute blank as she stared open-mouthed up into Conner's face; she was so close that for a moment she imagined she could count every single freckle upon his boyish face. _What would that be like? Knowing something like that…a person could spend a lifetime. _Raising a shaky hand to the one upon her cheek, she tilted her head slightly into his touch, melting inside with every passing second that his impossibly green eyes moved over her features.

"Ah…I see," she murmured stupidly, too enthralled to think of any of her normally clever retorts.

Narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, Conner cocked his head to one side, bringing his face closer to hers. He paused inches away from her, close enough for his every breath to wash over her face. Her heart skipped a beat in her chest as she waited for him to close that short distance, secretly willed him to close that distance. As if reading her mind, Conner's eyes heated to a burning forest green and lowered to outline her lips with his gaze.

Just when Meg felt as if she were on the verge of exploding with anticipation, Conner smiled slightly and pulled back. Straightening his jacket, the redhead turned and strolled casually around the table. Deflating quickly from the euphoric tension that had been thrumming through her body, Meg slumped back against her chair. Raising a hand to fan desperately at the flush burning in her face, Meg wondered at her own reaction to this impossibly annoying man. _God, how does he do that? Just by looking at me he can reduce me to a puddle. _

Sitting up straighter after a great amount of effort, Meg cleared her throat. "And what makes you think I believe or care about anything you just said. I know how accomplished you are with women," she sputtered, forcibly trying to forget the very words she had waited her whole life to hear.

Turning toward her then, with a bright grin sliding across his face, Conner gave her a wink. "Ach, now lass, who is the liar now? You care very much. A woman does not have a need to be fanning herself so if she doesn't give a fig about a man. And even if you do not believe me now I mean to make you believe very, very soon." Laughing at her outraged expression, Conner carefully picked up his violin and placed it in its case.

Striding toward the door, he grabbed hold of her hand as he went by, pulling her along with him out into the hall before she could protest. "Come on, I want to show you something."

"What! No, I am not going to go anywhere with you. Are you crazy!" Meg exclaimed, even though she found herself following along after him without much of a struggle. "I have practice in two hours."

"Don't worry, lass, we aren't going to be leaving the building," Conner replied easily as he led her down the hall and into the maze work of backstage passageways.

Moving in silence, Meg stared down at their clasped hands with wary interest. _I cannot believe him. He is the most annoying man I have ever met…but…why am I following him…why did I want him to kiss me just then? God, I am losing my mind! _They maneuvered their way around the stored set pieces, some draped with old sheets, and passed by a group of chorus members who were being fitted for their costumes. Giving Meg's hand a friendly squeeze, Conner started up several staircases. Only then did Meg think to even ask where they were going. "Conner, really, if this ends up being some sort of waste of time…"

Stopping at her words, Conner looked over his shoulder and raised one eyebrow at her. "So it is Conner again, is it?"

Slapping lightly at his shoulder with her free hand, Meg shook her head until several curls fell from their pins. "Oh, forget about that! Now are you going to tell me where we are going or not!"

Raising their clasped hands up to his lips, he traced a warm kiss over her knuckles before releasing his hold on her. "Don't worry about it. We are here."

At the touch of his lips to her skin, goose bumps erupted all over her arms. Raising her hands to rub them away, Meg looked about their surroundings with an unconvinced eye. They now stood in what served as a storage area for the Opera residents' odds and ends. Surrounded by piles of mismatched trunks and pieces of unused furniture Meg turned to glare in Conner's direction as he dragged a large trunk out of the mess.

Huffing, she waved a hand in front of her nose, coughing when motes of dust rose up into the air from Conner's disturbance. "Who does that belong to?" she asked from behind one hand.

Dragging the brass trimmed trunk closer to where she stood, the redhead wrinkled his nose at her. "It is mine, of course."

"Why do you keep it up here, then?"

Flipping open the two locks, Conner tossed the lid back, gesturing for her to come closer. "It is too big to be keeping in my room all the time. And these aren't things that I need on a daily basis. So I keep it up here."

Despite her reservations, Meg found herself actually becoming curious as to what he was up to. Moving forward she came to stand directly behind him, looking over his shoulder though she refused to sit next to him on the hardwood floor. "Well, what is in there, then."

Shrugging nonchalantly, he pulled out a long length of red silk dotted with gold stars, holding it out in front of him he slowly turned his head to grin up at her. "Oh, just this and that."

Charmed by the delicate material, Meg sank down to the floor next to him, reaching out to run her fingers over the shimmering cloth. "Oh my, how lovely. I have never seen anything like this before."

"This is the traditional garb of the ladies in India. They wrap it around and around them till it looks like a dress," he replied easily, handing the sari to her before rummaging about in the trunk some more.

"You have been to India!"

Pausing in his search the redhead nodded as if it was the most normal thing in the world to have visited such a far-off country. "Oh yes, when I was younger we lived there with our father for several years."

A burst of excitement bubbled up within Meg then, leaving her completely breathless. All her life she had dreamed of traveling to exotic places, but had never had the opportunity to do so. She had long ago accepted that she would never go to the places she had read about in books. Only those who shine in a crowd, like prima ballerinas, ever got to leave behind their place of birth and see the world, and Meg knew that she wasn't the type to ever make it so far. She was the type that faded into the background. It was enough to just hear stories from others of their travels.

"Ohhh…what was it like? I have read so many stories about India. Do they really have wild tigers there? And do they really speak over one hundred different languages?"

"Yes, and yes. Actually at night sometimes the tigers would come into the villages to steal chickens. If you listened you could hear them pass by. I have never heard another sound since quite like it."

Gasping in delight at the shiver that raced up her spine, Meg unconsciously scooted closer to Conner, laying the sari in her lap as she peered into the trunk with open curiosity. "Weren't you scared?"

"Sometimes…but usually they passed on through with no problems. Strange as it sounds I got used to them."

Clasping her hands together in her lap, Meg beamed at Conner, all her irritation and anger with him pushed aside by this new discovery. It appeared they did have something in common after all, something to talk about without fighting. It was enough that she could forgive him the lie he told her about Brielle in the hospital.

"Tell me more!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Holding Brielle's hand firmly in his, Erik moved through the inky blackness of the underground cellars. He kept the pace slow to accommodate for her unfamiliarity with the passages and because he was very reluctant to return her to the world above. With each step he took he felt as if he was that much closer to breaking through the delicate dream he had lived within the last few days. It tore at his heart, the fear that he would loose the bliss of Brielle's presence.

These were the times that brought the Phantom within him dangerously close to the surface again. The temptation to simply throw Brielle over his shoulder and disappear with her back down into the echoing depths of his underground prison became almost tangibly strong. Yet, he fought those temptations and he did not turn back. She had asked him to take her back and he would. He had lived in a dream world before with Christine and he knew he could not bear to do so again. Perhaps, just this once, reality might prove to be more rewarding than pretence.

_Ha! That may be the case, but even if she doesn't mysteriously come to her senses and run off screaming there are other things to consider._ Though she hadn't meant to, Brielle had given him the first little push toward that reality when she had shied away from his childish plans. Thinking about it now, he wondered how he could have ever suggested that she and Aria give up the comfort of the sun and live in the tomblike cavern of his home.

_How idiotic…of course she would refuse. She deserves better…she deserves a life…not the half life of living far below the feet and notice of others. Could I give her that life? Even with the money I saved from my salary would not be enough. Do I have the skills to navigate this world as a man and not a ghost? _

He felt Brielle squeeze his hand gently just then. The slight affectionate display eased the panic that was choking the air from his lungs. Letting out a shaky breath, he felt a nervous smile pull at the corners of his mouth. She always seemed to know to the precise moment that he was on the verge of teetering backward into one of his black moods. _Leave the worrying for later when she doesn't have to share it._

"Aria is going to be so glad to see us again, I think," Brielle offered into the darkness. "I noticed that you hardly went upstairs at all while you were taking care of me. So the poor thing has gone without either of us for quite a while."

Glad for something else to think on besides his own endlessly spiraling thoughts, Erik jumped to answer. "Yes, I dare say that is true. A child should not be separated from her mother."

"Or from you," Brielle interjected. "I swear she guards that music box you gave her as if it were a holy relic."

Despite himself Erik found a light chuckle working up the back of his throat. Drawing her closer to his side, he released her hand only to slide his arm about her waist. "What delightful images you always manage to paint."

"It is true! You have such a way with children. You are a wonder among men."

Blushing at her words, Erik ducked his head slightly. "Such things you say. I had hardly ever even dealt with children until I met Aria. Surely you exaggerate."

Pinching his arm lightly Brielle laid her head against his shoulder. "Do you ever think about having children of your own?" she sighed. Then seeming to realize what she had asked, she sucked in a deep breath. "Blast, I didn't mean to say that out loud."

"It is all right," he murmured, turning his head slightly to brush his lips against her soft hair. "I don't mind you asking. I used to think about what it would be like to start a family but I stopped wondering after a while."

"Why?"

"At some point it just became too painful to think about something I assumed would never happen. That and there is the added fear that I would pass my deformity on to any child that I might sire. I refuse to condemn another innocent to that fate." Stopping there, a spark of realization blazed through his mind, whipping out everything else with the power of one singular thought. "My God…Brielle I just realized that we…I mean…you don't think that you could be…"

Brielle's clear bell-like laughter rang out as she patted him on the chest. "So you just now realized something important, did you? No, I won't be a having your babe anytime soon."

"How do you know!"

"I could explain it to you medically if you like, but I dare say you really wouldn't want to know the details. Of course, such things are not one hundred percent certain…but, that said, I don't think you have anything to fear." Raising her head from his shoulder he could feel her turn to look up at him. "But you cannot know for certain that you would pass anything unwanted onto a child, Erik."

"I could not know that I wouldn't pass something on either."

"Yes, and if the babe came out looking like Death himself he still would not live as you had to. I would love him just as I love you…and certainly that would make all the difference in the world."

Pressing his mouth into a thoughtful line, Erik stared off straight ahead. _She just implied that she wouldn't mind carrying a child of mine. It wasn't my imagination…I heard her clear as day. _Feeling dizzy, the masked man gloried in a moment of breathless delight. _A baby…my baby…God what a thought. _Grinning like an idiot, the darker aspects of their uncertain future dropped away and he was left trying to imagine what it would be like to be a father with Brielle. The happiness he felt then was so sharp as to be akin to a physical pain but he wished for it to never stop.

Moving along quicker now, his feet hardly even touching the ground, Erik found his way to the back of mirror that led to Brielle's room. Able to see her face now in the dim light coming from the room beyond, he reached out to trace a finger along her cheek, needing very much to touch her in that moment. "I am sure you would."

Reaching out to press the mechanism that would open the mirror, Erik stepped through the newly opened space then turned and helped Brielle through. Smiling at her as she stepped to the carpeted floor next to him, the masked man moved to close the mirror behind her when he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Reacting with predatory grace, Erik pushed Brielle behind him and turned to face the intruder, all within the span of a half second. Ready and deadly calm to face whatever danger there may be he slipped a small dagger from his sleeve and into his palm.

A chair in the corner creaked as Christine De Chagny quickly climbed to her feet. The vicomtesse raised her chin slightly at the sight of Brielle peeking out from behind Erik's body, her dark eyes shooting her a weighted look. "I knew it. I knew it had to be _her_!"


	60. Shadows of the Past

**Hey all! Here is the next chapter for your enjoyment. (P.S. I am a terrible person for making you wait so long for this update. Once again School work had to come first. Sorry! And just so you know I have no intention of quitting. I am just a little slow lately so have patience.) But anyway hope you like it. **

**And a huge thanks to all of those who reviewed for the last chapter. I love hearing from you guys! Some of your suggestions are so funny you totally made me laugh out loud. **

**And once again Terpsichore did a fantastic job editing this chapter. She is so great everyone! So thanks Terpsichore!**

Chapter 60: Shadows of the Past

"I knew it. I knew it had to be _her!_" Christine said, raising one lily-white hand to point shakily at where Brielle stood peering out from behind Erik's body, her dark eyes glittering starkly from her pale face in the dim light. "Your eyes gave you away. You have eyes like Erik's…burning, wild eyes."

Bending slightly at the waist, Brielle edged to the side for a better look at the girl across the room. The initial spikes of surprised fear had had her heart racing within her chest when Erik had first pushed her behind him, but now, seeing that it was Christine rather than a stranger, or worse Andrew, she purposely tamped down those waves of unease in an attempt to think more clearly. The young vicomtesse was by far the least of all the manner of evils which could have found them out today. It was foolish of her not to pay closer attention to her surroundings before they stepped into the room, but she had just been so caught up in thoughts of Erik and the picture he had so carelessly painted of their children together that she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary until it was too late. But she knew now that in whatever confrontation was to come she would need the full capacity of her mind in working order, so she struggled to keep a level head through the growing anxiety burning within her chest. _Good Lord, I cannot believe it is her. DO not panic…do not panic. Just because this is the first time she and Erik have spoken since last year…it doesn't mean anything. Just don't panic…she won't get hysterical if you don't panic. _

Repeating these calming mantras over and over, Brielle stood stiff-backed and ready for a fight, imagining one disastrous scenario after another. She could see Christine running screaming from the room at the sight of her long 'dead' teacher and bringing the authorities down upon their heads. But worse yet, she could imagine Erik leaving her side and running off with Christine, such a scene had already been plaguing her nightmares for weeks and now was crystalline clear before her wide open eyes. And yet, just as her panic began to plug up her throat, she raised her eyes to the legendary Christine once again, but instead of seeing the shining and pure picture she had built up within her mind, she couldn't help but notice how small the girl looked in her fine jewels and tailored satin gown, how very young and utterly human. The panic began to subside. _For God's sake, the child is shaking clear down to her toes. Is she frightened? What is she afraid of? Erik? Me?_

Gathering up her courage, Christine ventured to speak again. "But what makes you think you are right for the position you have found yourself in?"

"Excuse me?" Brielle asked blankly, having been too lost in her thoughts to pay any attention to what Christine was saying.

"What makes you think you deserve to be near him?"

Shocked by the audacity of the question, Brielle could only stare for a moment before the irritation swept in. Narrowing her eyes into a frown, she took a threatening step forward, but Erik shot an arm out, stopping her progress. All attempts at keeping her head clear quickly went right out the window. "Why, you conniving little chit… Do not speak down to me from your high-handed pedestal. You have no right to question anything about me. You gave up any rights you had, remember?"

"I am serious! Answer my question! Are you right for the position you are in? Erik is not like other men. You cannot expect him to be."

"You are wrong. You were always wrong about…"

Waving a hand, Christine cut Brielle off. "No, I am right and you know it too. Have you seen what is under the mask? If you had you wouldn't be able to say what you are. It is too easy to say those things if you have not seen it."

Brielle found it difficult to formulate an intelligent answer. She just could not believe what was coming out of Christine's mouth. _She is talking like he isn't even standing here. Does she not know how cruel she is being?_ Searching the younger girl's face for the malice, which surely must be there, Brielle found nothing but a feverish earnestness tightening the vicomtesse's pert little mouth. _How is it possible to be so out of touch with the feelings of others that you cannot foresee when you are saying something hurtful? What sort of dream does she live in? _

Out of the corner of her eye, Brielle saw Erik's head lower slightly, his shoulders hunching up defensively as she turned her head to look up at him. It had been a long time since she had seen him draw into himself as he was, and it made her furious. Lowering his arm from where he held Brielle back, Erik raised a hand up to rub at his eyes. "Charming, cruel Christine…" he muttered raggedly under his breath.

Turning an icy glare back across the room, Brielle felt herself practically puffing up with agitation. _I cannot let her ruin everything. _"Yes, actually, I have seen. Not that something like that matters to a normal person. Just because you were born with a pretty face does not make you better than anyone else."

Christine looked slightly startled at this, obviously having not expected this answer, but she soon recovered. Nodding her head, she wrung her hands in front of her. "Then you know…you understand…" Christine murmured, the starkness of her expression lightening slightly.

"No, I am afraid I do not understand," Brielle snapped back, stopping Christine from saying anything further. "And now I think I should be asking _you_ a few questions."

Stirring from his silence, Erik let out a deep sigh. "Brielle, it is fine. No need to continue," he murmured softly, a weariness crackling in his voice that had not been there before. It was glaringly obvious, that despite the progress he had made in the last few months, that he was taking Christine's words to heart.

"I wanted to tell you something," Christine piped up, waving a hand in order to get everyone's attention.

Purposely ignoring Erik's request to leave it be, Brielle fisted her hands at her sides and barreled on. "Now, now, vicomtesse, it is only fair. And since you seem to be so interested in Erik's business, it should be no problem for you the answer a few questions."

"No, really…you misunderstand."

"What is Erik's favorite color, Christine? What are his favorite foods? What architectural style does he like the best? Do you know his favorite opera?" When Christine remained silent, Brielle raised her chin slightly. "What? Do you not know? Well, allow me to enlighten you. His favorite opera is Faust because it is a story of redemption and forgiveness, two things he has longed for all his life. His favorite architectural style is neo-classical because it is clean and bright without being overdone."

"Madame…"

Raising her voice to be heard over Christine, Brielle continued, sensing more than seeing the shift in Erik's posture as he straightened from his hunch to look over at her. "His favorite foods are anything with sugar in it. I have never seen another man take to desserts like Erik does. And his favorite color is gray. But then…you never bothered to know any of that."

Braving a glance Erik's way, Brielle managed to shoot him the barest ghost of a smile, glad to see that he was no longer staring at the floor near Christine's feet, but, rather, at her now. He was studying her face in that piercing, soul-searching way of his, with eyes so blue that they shone like gas lamps in the dim light, until she was sure he would see into the very depths of her thoughts. Slowly, the darkness lifted from his expression, and the corners of his mouth curled up into a slight smile, straightening his posture until he stood tall with the usual arrogance in the slope of his shoulders.

Catching the look passing between them, Christine clapped her hands together to draw their attention back to her. "No, I didn't know those things, but that is what I have been trying to say!" When Brielle and Erik merely ignored her and continued share in the secrets of each other's gaze, frustration began to bloom across the vicomtesse's face. "Listen…listen to me! By God, listen to me, you shrieking Irish banshee!"

The insult fell loudly in the quiet of the room, like a stone falling down an empty well. Almost instantly, the tenuous smile on Erik's face collapsed in upon itself as the weight of his temper crushed his mouth into a dark frown. Turning from Brielle, he stepped once more in front of her and faced off against Christine. Brielle felt Erik tense in front of her, his body going rock hard under the dark cotton of his coat jacket, until the very seams appeared ready to burst open at any moment. Subtly shifting further to the left, he physically blocked Brielle from Christine's heavy gaze, standing with his feet braced wide apart as if he were preparing for the younger woman to fly across the room in an attack at any moment. Despite herself, the thought that Erik believed he had to protect her from the tiny brunette was strangely funny. _Little does he know that I have already laid her out flat upon the floor._

But just as a wan glimmer of amusement was threatening to break through her anger, a new idea sprang up within her mind, quickly snuffing out any amusement she might have felt and making her heart give a little lurch within her chest. _Maybe it isn't me he is protecting. He knows I don't need it. Maybe he is afraid I will do something to her. Blast it all!_ Dropping her eyes to the floor, she caught sight of Erik carefully slipping something shiny back up his coat sleeve, but the movement was so quick, so casual that she started to doubt she had seen anything at all. Frowning, she wondered what he could possibly have hidden in such a place.

"Lower your voice, you wretched girl," Erik murmured, his voice pitched low in warning. "Someone will hear your blathering. And keep a rein on your insidious little tongue lest I lose my temper." Looking up at Erik's back, Brielle couldn't keep the surprise from her expression. The dark command in his tone sent a fine shiver racing down her spine even though his words were directed across the room. Never in her life would she have thought he would speak so harshly to the very woman who had been his muse for so many years. Apparently she had been wrong.

Christine shrank back slightly then, her confrontational stance wilting before the heat of Erik's words. The young vicomtesse blinked several times as she gaped across the space of the room at her former teacher, obviously just as startled by Erik's tone as Brielle was. She opened her mouth to speak but shut it uncertainly once again, looking about the room as if she were a child lost in the woods.

Sensing Erik's agitation growing by the second, Brielle raised a hand to his shoulder, patting him soothingly until he relaxed under her touch. Turning his head slowly he looked back at her, a worry line marring the space between his dark brows as he studied her expression, and suddenly Brielle didn't feel so uncontrollably furious. Forcing a smile, Brielle dropped her hand back to her side, trying, for his sake at least, to calm herself down.

Taking a deep breath, Brielle decided she should take control of the situation before the tension in the air spiraled any further out of control. Stepping out from behind Erik's looming form, she studied Christine for a moment before speaking. "All right…perhaps everyone should just calm down. Madame, I don't know why you felt the need to wait in here, but I suppose I should applaud your tenacity. However, I think you should know that I don't think your original plan for coming here has any bearing now. As you can see now, Erik is very much alive."

Coming back to herself, Christine tore her eyes away from Erik's as if she were waking from a dream. "Oh, yes, I already knew that. That is why I was waiting here."

Whatever Brielle had been about to say flew right out of her mind at that point. Tilting her head to the side in confusion, she could only get one word out. "What?"

"I already knew that he wasn't dead," Christine repeated, biting her pretty bottom lip as she warily watched Brielle's reaction.

"Oh, really?" The Irishwoman said, slowly swiveling around to raise an eyebrow back at Erik. "And how did you know that?"

Looking back and forth between Brielle and Erik, Christine hesitated, obviously sensing that her answer might not be well received. "Um, well…"

Waving his hand elegantly, Erik immediately silenced Christine's words, but this time Brielle was not as struck by his power over the younger girl. From the first moment Brielle had met the vicomtesse she had sensed something inherently fragile within her, something that needed to be led, and so it was surprising her less and less how much the force of Erik's personality could affect the girl. It was surprising her less, but worrying her more even as he turned toward her, his eyes shifting nervously to her face.

"While you were sleeping…I came upstairs once," he stated slowly, each word carefully considered before being spoken.

It was now that a light of understanding seemed to shine glaringly through the strangeness of the moment, poking holes in Brielle's confidence to allow the angry uncertainty to come rolling in. "You came up here because you knew she was here…and that I wouldn't know about it. Sweet Mary, was that why you were so happy earlier?"

"No, not at all…er…rather…not really anyway."

A painful weight dragged at Brielle's insides as she shook her head. "No, that was exactly it. Oh my God…that was exactly it."

Raising his hands in a calming gesture, Erik took several steps forward. Glancing uncomfortably at Christine's watchful gaze, he hesitated before reaching out to take Brielle's trembling hand between his. "Well, yes, that is partially true, but you have my reasoning wrong."

"And what is that?" she snapped back, trying to pull her hand free of his gentle grip.

"I wanted to say good-bye," he said sincerely as a small muscle began working in the side of his jaw. "To put the past to rest at last. I thought I owed that, at least…considering everything."

Blinking in surprise, Brielle struggled to process what he had said, her eyes automatically shifting to where Christine stood nodding her head a little sadly. "Is this true?" Brielle asked of the younger girl.

Clasping her hands before her, Christine nodded a little more vigorously, her large doe-like eyes filling up with tears. "Yes, it is true. He told me to go back to Raoul…that his life had moved on."

"Oh? Then why are you still here?" Brielle retorted a bit unkindly, before she could check herself. "Why did you feel the need to question me like I was a suspect of a crime?"

The question brought a faint new light to Christine's face. "Forgive me, but I thought he might be lying for my benefit. So that I wouldn't feel so badly and so that I would go away and leave him be. He never did like to see me crying." Pausing there, Christine looked down at Brielle and Erik's linked hands, a mixture of deep sorrow warring with the relunctant happiness in her epression. "I wanted to make sure that what he said was true, that what I had done to him might truly be something that could be forgiven, because when I came here I was certain I would never forgive myself."

Taking a deep breath, the vicomtesse gave an elegant little shrug, her chin puckering slightly as she fought off the tears that were still swimming in her eyes. "I could hardly dare to hope when he hinted that he had met new people."

"Hope?" Erik and Brielle both sputtered at once, staring at the young girl as if she were a stranger.

"Yes," Christine said with an uncharacteristically mature certainty. "And I so wanted it to be you…the person he spoke of…I wanted it to be you."

"What!"

"In all our time together I always felt that I was lacking. Erik is so strong…and I…I am not." Looking down at her hands, she ran a finger over the diamond of her engagement ring. "I know I am like a wilting flower most of the time…I know that. And I always imagined that he deserved a lioness. Someone as strong as him…someone like you, Brielle. That is why I wanted to know those things about you. To make sure I was right. I already knew you to be strong…but I wanted to see for myself if you were kind hearted as well. It eases my mind to find that you are…that you care for my…er…for Erik."

Completely flabbergasted by what she was hearing, Brielle could only stare, first at Christine then over at Erik, who apparently was just as shocked as she, for his mouth was hanging open slightly and his eyes were over-wide. Raising a hand absently to her forehead, Brielle tried to massage the cobwebs from her brain but found the task was beyond her at the moment. _I must be losing my mind. Did Christine, THE Christine, just approve of me? What is happening? This must be a dream. This is the same girl who tried to steal a music box from a four-year-old._

"But I thought you didn't like me," Brielle blurted suddenly. "I mean…I practically took your head off when I hit you that one time."

"You hit her?" Erik piped up suddenly. "What…when…I mean…"

Blushing a pretty pink now, Christine raised both hands to cover her cheeks. "Oh my, I am so embarrassed by that. I really wasn't acting like myself. But I don't hate you for that, Brielle. I hit you first, after all, so it wouldn't be completely fair for me to resent you forever. Though I have to admit I don't know that we would ever be friends. We are very different. I am sure you would get tired of my weaknesses and I would get sick of your strengths." A sad sort of smile flashed briefly over her face as she shifted uncomfortably. "I know this all seems sort of out of character to you both. I do not normally wait in the dark to confront people and all these things are extremely hard for me to say, but I just knew I had to say them…to make things right."

Looking over at Erik, Christine nodded her head slightly. "I am glad for you, Erik. I am glad you can be happy."

Unsure of how to respond, Erik turned to glance at Brielle. Raising his shoulders up into a shrug he looked just as perplexed as she felt. "All right…"

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the room then, leaving everyone searching for something to say. _But what does one do in a situation like this? _In the end Christine saved Brielle from trying to think of something to fill the quiet. The little brunette clapped her hands nervously in front of her before taking a step toward the door.

"Um…well, I suppose I have said all that I need to. That and I have to make arrangements back to London now that my visit to Paris is over."

"You have decided to leave then?" Erik asked, the worried crinkles around his eyes relaxing away slightly.

"Oh yes. I came here to try and make things right…as best I could anyway. But then I came and I realized that you had already done that for yourself. I simply waited here to make sure. You look happy, Erik. Funny that I hardly remembered what your smile looked like until just now. But I am glad you are happy." Smiling sweetly as if she hadn't just floored everyone in the room, Christine swept to the door. "So that means there is no reason for me to stay any longer. And I am sure poor Raoul is very worried about me." Pausing with her hand on the doorframe, she turned and looked over her shoulder, her dark curls framing her face as she studied the two people standing motionless behind her.

"Good-bye Erik. Please know that I never meant to…to…well you know. I do not think we are likely to ever see each other again…but just know you will always be my Angel of Music." Then, looking at Brielle, her smile dimmed slightly, taking on the more guarded expression she usually wore when dealing with the Irishwoman. "Take care of him, all right? And don't think I will allow someone else to mess things up as badly as I did," she ordered. Then without another word the vicomtesse opened the door and breezed out into the hallway, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.

The sound of the door clicking back into place echoed loudly in the room as both Brielle and Erik stood staring at where Christine had last been seen. Then slowly they turned in unison to look at each other, each wearing an expression of slack-jawed disbelief. "Did that really just happen?" Erik asked with such an air of doubt that Brielle couldn't help but burst out into peals of relieved laughter.

"By the Saints I think it did. Christine, bloody, Daae just gave us her approval and then ran out the door without so much as a 'by your leave.'"

Raising a hand to scrub across his face, Erik let out a muffled bark of a laugh, joining in with Brielle's strained chuckles. Feeling almost lightheaded, Brielle turned and flopped down into a nearby chair, and a moment later Erik moved to join her, sitting across the table from her with his elbows resting upon its edge, a puzzled expression clouding his brow.

"I am glad that is over. It could have been worse, I suppose."

"Yes, I suppose it could have been worse. She could have done something more idiotic than what she did," Brielle agreed sarcastically. Then, not liking the jealous undercurrents she heard in her own voice, she cleared her throat and attempted a more diplomatic tone. "Though I suppose in her own way she was trying to help you. But…are you alright? The poor girl has a strangely endearing sort of cruelty about her."

Frowning slightly, Erik gave a small shrug. "I think this little meeting was more for her benefit than mine. I already made my peace with her and what she did and did not do. I am alright. For a moment I simply was not completely prepared for how easily she slips between the sweet and sour," he said evenly as his eyes came around to settle upon her, the dark storm clouds within him parting ways for a quiet bliss that made Brielle's breath catch in her throat. How was it possible for any mortal man's eyes to be so blue?

"Funny, is it not?" he asked quietly, resting his chin upon one hand.

"What?"

"How easy it is to forgive the storms of the past when the light of the future is so bright ahead."

The smile spread across Brielle's face before she even realized the meaning behind his words. Reaching across the table, she brushed her fingers over the tops of his knuckles. "And to think…it only took you a year in my company to figure that out. I always knew you were a fast learner," she said teasingly, wanting very much to further bring out the smile that she saw just beyond the mirror of his eyes.

Wrinkling his nose at the laughter in her tone, Erik turned his hand over and wove his fingers through hers. "Yes, behold the power of my intellect and be amazed."

Sputtering out a laugh, Brielle stood, and, using their joined hands, she pulled Erik to his feet next to her. "Ach, what an ego, maestro! You should be careful or no one will want to work with you." With a wink Brielle turned to look over her shoulder at the closed door. The longing to see her family and Meg again welled up within her then, making her remember why they had ventured upstairs in the first place. It was time to step out into the world again. "I think it is high time I made my grand return known. So be off with you then."

Nodding reluctantly, Erik brought her hand to his lips and then let her go. "Yes, you are right. Will you be all right going on your own?"

"Yes, thank you. I think I am rather safe with my own personal bodyguard lurking about the wings." Watching Erik flash a protective smile, Brielle followed him to the mirror, but just as he was stepping into the darkness beyond she reached out and grabbed hold of his sleeve. "You will come back later, won't you?"

"Yes, I will always come. All you have to do is ask." Turning from her then, Erik swept off into the corridor beyond the mirror, the shadows wrapping his body like the embrace of a lover until his outline disappeared into the darkness.

Sighing heavily, Brielle slid the mirror shut with a soft click, pressing a hand against the gripping loss she felt pulling at her insides. _Will I always feel as if I have lost something when he leaves the room?_ Shaking off the feeling, she strode across the room and opened the door, making her way out of the hall and into the busier sections of the Opera's backstage area. Activity was practically bursting out of every crevice. A small battalion of seamstresses was busily beading a row of white headdresses as she passed the costume department, obviously putting the last touches on the angel costumes for the upcoming production of Faust. Spotting Marie dictating commands to another on the cleaning staff, Brielle waved to the older woman and got a harried wrinkled smile in response. _Hm, I suppose I wasn't missed as much as I thought I would…_ A high-pitched shriek cut through the buzzing din of the preparations. Jumping with a gasp, Brielle whirled about just in time to see Carlotta's imposing figure bearing down on her.

The dark-eyed singer grabbed hold of Brielle's shoulders, a relieved smile splitting her face. "It is-a you! I waz so worried! I tought you 'ad died! Dat useless violinist told me nothing when I asked."

Caught slightly off guard by the genuine happiness she saw shining in Carlotta's face, Brielle could only flash an uncertain smile. "Eh…yes…and I am happy to be back. I am sorry I was gone for so long without any word. I certainly do not expect to be paid for…"

Waving a bejeweled hand in the air, Carlotta cut her off. "Shshshsh, dis is no time to talk of money. You were ill, yes? I will not 'ear of it. Ah, but go away now…I 'ave to go to practice and I am running late and den I 'ave to get fitted for my costume for de party. Shoo, shoo."

"What party?" Brielle asked as Carlotta ushered her further away from the stage.

"De opening night party. It is supposed to take de place of de masked New Year party. So you see I am very busy. We will talk later, yes?"

"Yes, all right, all right," Brielle agreed as she followed Carlotta's demand and left the older woman behind. _Lord, just when I think she is a decent human being…then she always somehow corrects that thought, _Brielle thought with a smile. _At least I can go and spend some time with Aria now instead of telling her fortunes. I had no idea that it was so close to opening night though. It cannot be more than a week and a half away. What fun it will be to see all of Paris' finest dancing in the main foyer. A ball is just the thing to set everyone in a good mood. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Splashing through the standing puddles on the ground, Andrew drew his top hat further down over his eyes to keep the misting rain from his face. Looking to the plain, dark haired man walking casually next to him, a grim determination pulled his mouth into a thin white line. "So I can be sure of your cooperation then, Mister Beaumont?" he asked of his companion.

"Yes, my lord. So long as you pay me the agreed-upon amount I will do whatever it is you ask. I would think that goes without saying…considering my reputation," came the cool response in perfect French. Walking with the rolling and careful grace of a killer, the man squinted through the falling rain. "But so we are clear as to the exact purpose of my employment…"

"You are to assist me in the return of my fiancée. On the grand reopening of the Opera you and I will help her see the error of her ways."

"Should I bring some ether then?"

Shooting the pleasantly forgettable man next to him a murderous glare, Andrew struggled to get control of his temper, something that he was finding more and more difficult with each passing day. "Do not take me for a brutish boar, sir. I wouldn't dream of subjecting a lady to such methods. She will come along quietly enough so long as we play our cards right."

Nodding silently Beaumont cleared his throat. "Of course, you must forgive my lapse. I am more used to having an entirely different sort of job, as you know. Actually I have been wondering why exactly you are hiring me. Certainly anyone could snatch a woman and child without too much of a fuss."

"Do not fret. Your skills will no doubt be put to use. You see I do have someone in mind that I would like you to…work on a bit."

A bright smile flashed over Beaumont's face at the news. "Lovely. I had hoped you would say as much. I brought my favorite knives all the way from my last job just in case."

Finding the blatant bloodlust in the Frenchman's eyes distasteful, Andrew looked away from the man. "But I want to make it clear that neither Brielle nor Aria is to be harmed. If they are you get nothing."

"Understood, my lord. No need to worry. I have a spotless record."

Grunting in acknowledgement, Andrew rubbed his chilled hands together. "Good…good. So long as we are clear. And feel free to have a little fun with your 'favorite knives' as you put it. I wouldn't mind seeing this particular man in a little pain before he dies. In fact…"

Trailing off suddenly, Andrew came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the sidewalk, his eyes fixed on the blurry figures bunched together under the eave of an upcoming store, obviously waiting for the rain to let up. The people's faces were slightly obscured by the water dripping off the edge of the overhang but within the crowd a certain pair of dark brown eyes seemed to burn through the distance and the weather and right into Andrew's soul. Sucking in a deep breath, with his heart instantly racing up into his throat, the young lord blinked and those familiar accusatory eyes were gone as if they had never been. For one breathless moment he felt icy tendrils curling over his skin, like the clammy fingers of graveyard fog.

"My lord, are you alright?" Beaumont asked quietly, without any real strains of concern in his voice.

"Did you just see a scarred man up there standing under that store eave?" Andrew asked unsteadily, the white cloud of his breath hanging about his head as he turned to look at the man beside him.

"No, my lord," the Frenchman replied casually. "Is he someone we should worry about?"

"No, he is nothing to worry about. Never mind then," Andrew said, trying to keep the fear from his voice; but in his mind he heard three bone-chilling words repeating over and over within his head. _You will die…_

Clearing his throat, Andrew stuffed his hands in his pockets and strode forward. "I think we should continue this conversation inside. This weather is entirely too dismal to bear."

"Certainly, my lord. Perhaps you can give me a better description of the man you wish me to…take care of."

Thoughts of those haunting brown eyes fled before the image of a certain masked face. "Yes, yes, I can. The man you are to kill is the one they used to call the Phantom of the Opera. He is a con artist and a murderer. Do you think you can kill a ghost?"

A perfect row of white teeth flashed through the murky air. "Give me a blade and I could kill the Lord almighty himself. A phantom should be no problem at all."


	61. Reality Check

**Hey all. Here is the next chapter for your enjoyment! (And it took less than two weeks too! Hurray!) But anyway hope you all like it! **

**Once again a huge thanks to Terpsichore! She always manages to get the chapter back quickly even though she is super busy! She is a genius! And thanks to all my reviewers! I love hearing from you guys and I really do try to take your suggestions into consideration while writing the chapters. If enough people say they want more of a certain character or whatever I try to oblige. So thanks for letting me know what you all think! **

**Oh and happy Memorial Day!**

Chapter 61: Reality Check

Listening to the quiet of the sleeping Opera House around her, Brielle lay awake in her own bed for the first time in over a week. The muffled footfalls of members of the cleaning staff drifted in through the filter of her closed door, allowing her to catch snippets of complaints and laughter as the women passed by on their way to the next floor to be scrubbed. For a moment Brielle felt slightly out of place. In the short time she had stayed below ground with Erik she had become used to the eerie silence of the cellars. The sounds of life all around her now seemed odd, as if she were waking from a dream and found herself suddenly thrust back into the real world.

Taking a breath, Brielle tried to put aside her unease. _How strange it is. Who would have thought that I would become so used to the quiet of that place in so short a time. When I was there it was strange, the lack of noise, but now that I am back it feels strange for exactly the opposite reason. Or perhaps…perhaps I feel so odd because he is not here. I have gotten so used to his presence that to be without him feels as if I am not quite myself._

Earlier that evening she had sat up and waited for Erik to appear through the mirror but after an hour passed she had given up. Never in her life had she found herself waiting for a man before, and the fact that she was doing it now both troubled and delighted her. But in the end she had been left feeling rather foolish for he had not come and she had wrestled Aria to bed alone.

The pressure of a small hand fisting in the back of her nightgown brought her out of her musings, causing a slight smile to sketch across her face as she turned her head slightly to peer through the dark at the small mound in the blankets next to her. When night had fallen hours ago, Aria had loudly insisted upon sharing the bed with her long-lost mother, and Brielle had been so starved for the comfort of the child's presence that she had not objected. And now the very sound of Aria's breathing was a balm to her worries, softening the uncertainty of the future, and cushioning the vague unease that had been plaguing her in the hours since the confrontation with Christine.

Though the encounter with the vicomtesse had certainly gone much better than she may have predicted, Brielle was left reeling from the whole experience. It was like the first disorientating moments after awaking from a deep sleep. She would have thought that Christine acting like an adult for once would have put her at ease, but it didn't. In fact, Christine's dramatic exit had instilled within her a certain sense of dread, a fear that she couldn't explain. _Stop it, Bri… you are being overdramatic. Christine finally let him go. Be happy with that. And be happy that he has let her go too. There is nothing else to it. Be happy… There are more important things to worry about…like what is going to happen next. That is far more important…because it is so uncertain. _

Closing her eyes, Brielle made another attempt to sleep, but found her mind too full of the day's happenings to rest. Grimacing, she turned over and reached out across the mattress until her hand found the warmth of the small body resting next to hers. Aria stirred at her touch but did not wake. Resting a cheek on the back of one hand, Brielle lay still, picking out Aria's face in the dark. _Stop worrying…there is nothing more perfect than holding your babe in your arms. _

Without realizing it, Brielle's eyelids began to grow heavy, closing finally when she could keep them open no longer. Her worries drifted away with her conscious thoughts as sleep pulled her determinedly into its soothing embrace. Snuggling her face further into the cushion of the pillow, she sighed and drew in the clean soapy smell of her daughter's dark hair. Just as she was about to give in to the blissful warmth awaiting her just beyond the ethereal curtain between reality and dreams, she heard a metallic snick somewhere in the darkness behind her.

For a moment her foggy mind couldn't process the out-of-place noise and so she ignored it, smiling absently into the pillow's cotton sham. But then the barely audible sound of the large pane of glass sliding to the side whispered through the room, catching Brielle's attention before she could slip fully into sleep. Her eyebrows drew into a frown as she turned her head from the pillow, listening. Unexpectedly something in the very atmosphere changed then, becoming charged like the air right before a summer storm. The fine hairs along the nape of her neck stood up in response, sending her whole body to thrumming with the energy suddenly crackling through every inch of the room. She didn't have to open her eyes to know what had drawn her from unconsciousness.

Lying still, she listened to Erik carefully slide the glass shut behind him, obviously taking great pains to deaden the whir of the mechanisms when he stopped just short of clicking it back into its latch. Sighing contentedly, Brielle waited for him to cross to her, every inch of her skin coming alive with the knowledge that his eyes might be upon her, but as she held her breath in waiting, no other sound met her expectant ears. The room fell back into the deep, echoing silence of the night.

Blowing out a breath from under her covers Brielle yawned. "Erik, for the love of God, stop standing there," she mumbled against her hand, her own sleepy voice sounding oddly loud in the still air.

A slight stirring of the air was all that signaled Erik's approach, the sound of his footsteps lost in the practiced ease of his movements. "How did you know I was there?" he asked quietly, from somewhere near the foot of the bed.

"Heard you," she replied shortly, not wanting to lose the contented fuzziness of her near-sleep state.

"Damn it." The curse cut through the quiet like a star falling through the sky. "I did not intend to wake you."

"Uh-huh… Well a thousand shames upon you for doing so," she teased half-heartedly, never minding the fact that one of the reasons sleep had evaded her in the first place was because he hadn't been there. "Why are you still just standing about for?"

A small irritated grunt sounded a little bit closer to the edge of the bed as Erik drew closer. "As I said, I did not want to disturb you and Aria. I remember how difficult it was to get her to sleep…I didn't want to add to the…"

Raising a hand out from under the covers, Brielle waved it blindly in the air until her fingers brushed the bottom edge of his coat hem. Grabbing hold of the material, she gave it a yank. "Did it ever enter your head that you could have helped in my labors?" His silence was answer enough to her. Evidently the thought hadn't occurred to him. Sighing, Brielle tightened her grip upon his coattails, pulling upon the material until he was forced to take a step closer. "Are you going to stay then?" she asked with another yawn.

The stiffness in his posture relaxed slightly at the question, as if he had just been waiting for her to ask it. His fingers brushed over the closed fist on his clothing and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I suppose I could," he whispered, pitching his voice lower until it barely carried across the small distance to Brielle's ears.

Cracking one eye open, Brielle wrinkled her nose up at him. "Your enthusiasm is shocking." Folding his hands in his lap he sat with his back to her. The white of his mask stood out starkly in the darkness, giving him the coolness of a graveyard statue, as he stared down at the floor. He remained quiet for several minutes, clasping and unclasping his hands, as he struggled with something Brielle couldn't quite name.

"I did not mean to sound…well…as you said, unenthusiastic…it is just that…" Stopping there, he spread his hands out as he searched for what to say. Opening both her eyes, Brielle looked up at him with a certain level of concern. It was not often that Erik had trouble expressing himself. Normally his articulation was of the highest and most refined degree.

"When I left you here earlier, I do not think I fully comprehended that when I went back to the cellars that I would be going back alone. Of course, at certain levels I knew this, but I was not prepared for the realities of it. I tied off the boat at the docks and went about my normal daily activities, but…it was difficult to concentrate. The silence was…unbearable. But it wasn't just the quiet. I could feel my isolation in every fiber of my being and the very stone seemed to press in upon me. That has never happened before."

Turning his head around to look down at her, he paused for a moment. "And suddenly what had happened between us seemed a dream. Like it never happened."

"Then why did you stay away?"

"I do not know. Maybe I became so caught up in it that I actually feared it had been a phantom memory, a manifestation of a mind gone mad."

Reaching out, Brielle laid her hand upon his thigh. It was odd to her that he had just described exactly the same feelings she had been experiencing all day long. She felt terribly foolish for still being so uncertain around him. Erik, at least, had a better excuse for not trusting the new aspects of their relationship. The foundations of his life had been built around mistrust of others and vicious self reliance. It only made perfect sense that he should find it difficult. Her only reason for not trusting in him was the fear of pain she had carried with her ever since John died. She feared the pain he could bring down upon her, whether it was intentionally or unintentionally done.

Giving his leg a squeeze, Brielle closed her eyes again. "It wasn't a dream, Erik."

"Yes, I think I am beginning to believe that."

"Will you be staying tonight?" Brielle ventured to ask after a moment's pause.

Erik shifted upon the edge of the bed and his teeth flashed briefly through the dark in a smile. "I do not think I would have come unless the answer was yes."

"Well, come on then. All this chatting is sure to be waking Aria eventually."

Nodding in understanding, Erik stood and looked about the room slowly. Practically seeing where his mind was going, Brielle jumped in. "Take your shoes off at least before you climb in," she said, pushing the blankets back invitingly on the right side of the bed.

Erik stopped pondering the other bed in the room and merely went about doing as she asked. Pulling off his coat and vest he folded the clothing carefully and set them upon the small wooden table in the middle of the room. Stepping out of his shoes he crossed to the bed and climbed in. Moving over to accommodate his size, Brielle gently rearranged Aria's sleeping body to curl in front of her as Erik settled at her back. The fit was a bit tight in the double bed but not uncomfortable and Brielle suddenly found herself blessing her luck in securing the non standard mattress when she was promoted to Carlotta's fortune teller.

His arm came around her waist as his sigh sounded close to her ear. "That is better," he mumbled so quietly she was sure he was talking mostly to himself.

Closing her eyes Brielle smiled, her mind settling down into a level of contentment she hadn't felt all day. The feel of Erik's body next to her was a comfort to the troubles circling within her head. Wrapped in his warmth, she found herself slipping easily into sleep.

The sound of a sharp metallic clicking burst through the emptiness of unconsciousness causing Brielle to open her eyes. Staring at an unfamiliar plaster wall in front of her, she struggled to orient herself. Sitting up, she looked around at her surroundings with a vague frown wrinkling her brow. She was not in her room any longer but in a large open warehouse piled high with large unmarked barrels. Completely confused by this, she stood and turned in a circle but could see no one else on the landing where she was. _What in the world…_

From the corners of her eyes, she caught sight of a light flickering to life from behind a stack of large empty crates. Going to the metal railing, she opened her mouth to call out but shut it again when a familiar masculine voice drifted through the dusty air to where she stood. Her heart leapt into her throat as she listened to Andrew coldly discussing something with another person. Falling back to press against the wall behind her, Brielle raised a hand to her mouth in order to keep from making the horrified sounds rising up the back of her throat from escaping her lips, hoping all the while that Andrew hadn't somehow heard her there. Standing flat against the wall, a dark sense of dread turned her blood cold, and right before her, the large room took on an ominous character, gaping open below her like the mouth of grave. Her vision began to gray about the edges as she sank down to the floor. _This isn't right. Andrew cannot be here…Conner heard him saying he was off to England. And I can't be here. I am in my room…I am safe…this is just a bad dream. Wake up…wake up. _

Opening her eyes with a start, Brielle jolted awake, her whole body stiffening as she blinked up at the stone ceiling of her room. It took her several moments to realize where she was, the images of her dream still fogging her brain. Erik stirred next to her and asked what was wrong, but his voice sounded far away over the din of her thumping heart and ragged breathing. The feel of his warm hand upon her face brought her fully back to herself. Bringing her gaze down from the ceiling she met the worried looks of both Aria and Erik.

Raising a hand to her cheek, she let out a relieved breath. "Did I wake you both up? I am sorry." Noticing then with a start that the entire room was lit brightly, she gaped at the lit gas lamps in the walls. "When did those get turned on…"

Cocking her head to the side, Aria stuck her thumb into her mouth, shooting her mother a serious look. "M-Momma you were s-shouting," she mumbled around her thumb.

"What?"

Taking hold of Brielle's shoulder, Erik brought her attention around to him. "And thrashing about. What in the world were you dreaming about?"

Opening her mouth to respond, Brielle closed it again when the answer didn't come. In the short time she had been awake, the memory of what had happened dissolved back into the farthest recesses of her mind. An embarrassed flush worked its way up her face as she looked back and forth between Erik and Aria. "You know…I cannot remember. I knew a moment ago, but now…"

Aria began to tug insistently at her mother's sleeve, distracting her from her mental search. Shakily Brielle reached up and patted the child on her cheek. "Shh, love, Momma is trying to think," she implored softly, feeling the memory of the dream slip even further out of her reach, though the terror stayed close to her wildly beating heart.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Erik stood a few feet from the bed, his widely braced feet and stoic expression clear indications of his unease. When Brielle raised her wide, dazed eyes to him she caught him studying her with an intensity so fierce she was sure his eyes could cut through lead. Attempting a smile to set him at ease, she found her pale attempt only seemed to aggravate him even more. Stirring from his statue-like posture, Erik reached around Brielle and plucked the four-year-old from the bed, settling her on his hip, and giving Brielle some much-needed air as he made a circuit of the room.

Lowering her feet over the edge of the bed, she smoothed her tangled hair over her shoulder. "Lord a-mighty, I am so sorry for waking you both," Brielle said, beginning to feel rather foolish now that the grips of the dream were loosening. _My word…what a fuss. This is so embarrassing. I just HAD to have a nightmare on his first night here. It was just a nightmare._ And yet, with the thought still fresh in her mind, she felt that it was a lie. It didn't feel like a nightmare. That is why the sweat still clung clammily across her back.

Bouncing along in Erik's arms, Aria took her thumb out of her mouth with a loud sucking sound. "T-That is all right. N-Now we can all p-play!" Aria squealed happily, waving one hand over her head as she turned to grin at where Brielle still sat upon the bed.

"You are as pale as those sheets you are sitting on," Erik accused over his shoulder, doggedly ignoring Brielle's attempt at distraction.

Shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, Brielle continued to brush her fingers through her loose hair, careful to avoid eye contact for fear he would see the uncertainty in her gaze. _Stop it, Bri…it was just a nightmare. You can tell these things by now. Do not overcomplicate. Nothing bad is going to happen…not when things are just now beginning to work out. No…I will not even contemplate the alternative. It was a nightmare and that is final. Put it from your mind. _

"No, no…I am fine," Brielle assured quickly. "I just need to regain my composure. It was just a nightmare after all. Just need to catch my breath."

Erik made a thoroughly unconvinced grunt at that as he turned and set Aria on the ground, his movements so natural that Brielle marveled at his ease with her child. It made her heart stir at the sight. "Are you sure it was a nightmare and that it wasn't…"

Standing a little too quickly, Brielle interrupted him before he could finish. "No…no…because that would mean something bad is on the way. No…it was a nightmare."

"If you say so," Erik allowed slowly, and after another moment spent frowning across the room at her, he turned and opened the wardrobe doors, and leaning forward, he began rooting through the clothing within. Brielle watched in growing outrage as a shower of petticoats tumbled out of the wardrobe and landed at Erik's feet.

"What are you doing?" Brielle huffed, coming around the table to stand next to where Erik was pulling a dove gray cotton dress from her wardrobe. Without answering her he handed her the dress, then pulled out one of Aria's. "What are you doing?" she asked again as she bent to push the mound of petticoats back into the closet.

"You said you needed to catch your breath," Erik replied as he spun around and went to where his coat and vest were folded upon the table, leaving his mess behind without a second glance.

"Yes, but what does that have to do with you mucking about in my clothes? You made a mess!"

Shrugging into his waistcoat he straightened his collar as he shot a glance back at the wardrobe. "No, I didn't. Everything looks fine to me."

Waving the dress he had handed her about in the air, Brielle didn't notice as Aria slipped the other one from her hand. "That is because I already cleaned it up!"

Tilting his head to the side ever so slightly, Erik flashed her a heart-stopping smile that made her insides turn to water, and suddenly Brielle couldn't have cared less about the mess. "Are you going to get dressed then?" he asked innocently, shooting his cuffs with deft jerk.

"Absolutely not. It is the middle of the night."

"Everyone is awake."

"That is beside the point. We should be sleeping."

"Really? I find that a midnight stroll can be very refreshing. The Opera is at its best during the night."

"No…no. I am not going to go traipsing around in the middle of the night. I am going to go right back to bed." _Lord, the things that go through his head. Even though I know I won't be able to sleep for hours still…_

"Well, I suppose Aria and I will have to go and get some air on our own then," he said breezily as he ushered the child toward the door. Feeling as if she were losing her mind, Brielle noticed that sometime in the last few minutes, Aria had managed to dress herself and put on her shoes. Skipping happily before him, Aria trailed the ribbons that she hadn't been able to tie into a bow.

Giving in to the apparent insanity that was running rampant through the room, Brielle turned on her heel and stalked behind a changing screen. Grumbling the whole time, she pulled on the dress Erik had handed her and then stepped out from behind the screen. Slipping on a pair of shoes, she captured Aria long enough to do up her bow. Straightening with her hands planted on her hips, she gave Erik a weighty look, forgetting for the moment to worry about her dream and what it might mean for her future.

"All right, lead away."

"Your enthusiasm is shocking," he said dryly, repeating her words from earlier that evening back to her.

She opened her mouth to reply but found that a smile was pulling annoyingly at the corners of her lips. It was at that moment that it dawned on her why he was pestering her so. _Ach, the sneak! This whole time I thought he was just in an annoying mood but he is just trying to get my mind off that blasted dream. Lord, now I feel foolish for rising so easily for his baiting._

Taking Aria's hand in hers, Brielle forced herself to relax and humor Erik's roundabout attempt at easing her mind. "No, no. I am serious now." Narrowing his eyes at her, Erik turned slowly and headed to the mirror. Opening the passage, he waited on the threshold until Brielle and Aria came up beside him. Tilting her head back to look up at him as she passed, Brielle could just make out the faintest signs of worry tightening Erik's expression.

"What, no more smart remarks?"

Pursing her lips, Brielle shook her head. "No, I am fresh out."

"Then follow me," he muttered, rolling his eyes as he reached out and took Brielle's hand in his.

The mirror closed behind their small group then, casting them into darkness. Stabilized by Erik's grip upon her hand, Brielle didn't experience the usual disorientation she felt in the Opera's back passages. She had a moment to worry about how Aria would handle the dimness of the corridors but the child soon put them to rest as she began skipping along behind her. The terrain under their feet began to rise as Erik led them up a winding incline. Baffled as to where they might be going, Brielle tried to go over the vague knowledge of the passage's layout but soon found the task beyond her. So it came as a surprise when Erik abruptly came to a stop in front of her.

Aria let out a squeal that had Brielle flinching, for all she knew they were right beside the ballet dormitories, but Erik didn't seem concerned by the child's noise. "Where are we?" Brielle asked quietly.

"Somewhere rarely visited…even by those who have lived within the Opera all their lives."

"Is it a m-magic place?" Aria whispered earnestly as she wove her way past her mother to stand directly behind Erik.

There was a soft click as Erik opened a small door. His smile limned with the shaft of light coming through the new opening, he turned to look down at Aria. "Yes, I suppose it has its own sort of magic." Pushing open the door, he stepped out into the room beyond.

Aria hopped over the threshold without any proper sign of reservation and Brielle quickly followed, genuinely curious now as to where Erik had led them. At first the dimness of the room blocked any impressions other than the vague sense of immense size spreading out around her, but as Brielle's eyes adjusted, she began to pick out the area's oddities. No furniture decorated the space, giving it a feeling of emptiness, but upon closer inspection the reason behind this lack of decoration became clear.

Ropes and chains, thick as a human calf, twisted up out of the floor near the center of the room, spreading out over the ceiling in a cobweb of pulleys and knots that boggled the mind. Her mouth gaping open at the unusual sight, Brielle wandered under the intricately woven canopy as her daughter twirled nearby. "What is this place," Brielle breathed as she raised a hand up to run along a nearby rope where it was anchored against the wall.

"This is the chandelier repair room," came the soft reply from somewhere to her left. "The ropes you see are what anchor the chandelier in place. When there is a problem with the gas lines or if a crystal goes missing, the maintenance crews can actually raise the chandelier into this room for easier access during repairs. Not many people know that."

He made a subtle clucking sound in the back of his throat just as the gas lights along the wall hissed to life, their glow brightening the room enough that Brielle could now see where Erik stood against the far wall. One after another the frosted glass globes lit up as the gas made its way through the pipes around the room. A tiered shelf holding rows upon rows of spare chandelier crystals burst into thousands of diamond-like sparkles, casting dots of rainbow colored light over the floor and walls nearby. Aria clapped her hands together in delight at the dancing spectacle and Brielle found herself mimicking the awed action.

"It is beautiful…who would have thought such a place was hidden up here! It seems so peaceful…"

Dropping his hand from the switch on the wall, Erik casually studied the ropes above him, his eyes narrowed in thought and dark in the new light. "Yes, I thought you would like it," he stated simply, his voice taking on a slightly worried tone as he watched Aria playing amongst the dancing lights.

"M-Momma, I was right!" Aria laughed as she tried to chase one of the rainbows. "It is m-magic. L-Look at all the f-fairy lights!"

A gentle warmth slowly began to fill the leaden pit in Brielle's abdomen that the nightmare had left behind, bringing her the final relief from the fears plaguing her mind. Sighing deeply, she made her way across the room to where Erik still stood against the wall. He glanced at her briefly and then away as she reached out to take his hand in hers. "I am glad you brought us here."

Nodding in reply, his one visible brow drew down into a slight frown. "Perhaps I should not have."

"What do you mean? What better place would there be to forget a nightmare in?"

"The last time I was here was the night I unhooked the chains and sent the chandelier crashing into the audience," he replied curtly, the worried creases on his forehead deepening into a brooding scowl. "I did not think it would be a problem, but…now it seems entirely inappropriate."

"Erik…" Brielle began, sensing the darkness of his mood thickening by the second.

"Of course I had it planned out so that it would crash into the stage, but still…the last time I stood here I had murder on the mind." Across the room Aria stopped her antics and glanced over at them, looking terribly worried as she watched Erik pull away from her mother's hand.

"Erik."

"But then again almost everywhere in this place is inappropriate," he whispered so softly Brielle wondered if he knew he spoke aloud. "I was fooling myself to think otherwise. This place will always be a museum of my past, displaying my crimes for you to see for the rest of my damned life. They are like ghosts now…the memories here. Haunting every inch of this place. The only solution would be to escape but…but I know I cannot."

"Erik, stop it! What has gotten into you?"

Shaken out of his thoughts, he turned to look at her, the darkness fading from his expression, leaving him seeming shaken and terribly sad. "Nothing…I was just thinking." Clearing his throat, he stepped away from the wall. "But I think it is time our little adventure came to an end. You were right…midnight really isn't the best time for a walk."

Before she could formulate a suitable answer, Erik started off across the floor toward where the secret door still stood open, leaving both Brielle and Aria to follow after him. Deflated now from her earlier sense of elation, Brielle went and collected her daughter, who had also grown suddenly quiet. Hurrying to catch up to the masked man, she crossed the floor and was right behind him in moments, following him through the doorway and into the darkness beyond.

_Perhaps this is what my dream was about. Warning that things would not be going too smoothly. What in the world could have caused such a sudden change? It couldn't be just this room that bothered him so. He mentioned that the Opera is inappropriate…is he still brooding over the fact that I refused to stay down in the cellars with him? I didn't mean to hurt his feelings, but I just could not agree to it. I could never be happy in such a place…surrounded by stone and darkness all the time. It would be like living in a tomb. Blast it all! Sometimes I wish I could peer into that man's skull and see what in the world he is thinking!_

_Fat chance I will be getting any sleep now. If my hair weren't already white I swear that man would turn me silver in the blink of an eye! _


	62. Moments of Truth

**Hey all here is the next chapter for you. Finally! Once again work bumped my writing to the back burner. I have been having to take a lot of double shifts lately. But I am super sorry for making you all wait so long. Hopefully you will enjoy the chapter though!**

**A huge thanks to Terpsichore. She worked super fast to get this chapter back to you all tonight. YAY she is the best ever!**

**Oh…and thanks to Silvan and explodingBrain-musik for their super cool gifts they did for me. ExplodingBrain-musik did a cute little Erik for me (Sooo cute.) And sylvan did a couple new fanart pics for me. If you would like to see her work go to the following links (Just take the spaces out.) I know I really liked them. **

http / www . freewebs. com / angai / phantom 5Fug. Jpg

http / www. freewebs. com / angai / phantom 5Fug2. jpg

**(Ok for some reason part of the address isn't showing up so I will just tell you. Put a percent sign in before the fives in each of the addresses and then take out the spaces and the link should work.) **

**P.S. The rating at the end of the chapter goes up a bit. **

Chapter 62: Moments of Truth.

Two days passed in such frenzied and tiresome succession that Brielle was sure she would lose her mind. She hardly had a moment to wash her face in the morning before Carlotta presented her with some tedious job that needed immediate attention, and though she had told the diva that she would not act the slave at the beginning of her employment, Brielle found herself fetching costume pieces or running errands without a second thought. Somewhere between Carlotta's tantrums Brielle had come to regard her overblown reactions with a wary sort of affection. So now the work felt more like doing a favor than taking a command.

And in a way she was glad for the work, because if she had had a moment's peace Brielle knew that she would only worry about Erik and what his comments that night in the chandelier room meant. It did not take a genius to figure out that he was becoming increasingly worried about something, but whenever she tried to pry the truth behind his dark mood out of him he evaded her. His silence stoked the growing frustration and fear plucking at her heart but in the end she could not find it within herself to become angry at him. _After all, I didn't tell him what I suspected about my dream. That it was more than just a nightmare. Lord, I just didn't want it to be anything sinister…But it hasn't repeated, so maybe there really wasn't anything to it. _Sighing heavily, Brielle was forced to snap out of her line of thought when a young messenger boy nearly ran her over on his way to deliver his post. Shooting a glare over her shoulder she tightened her grip on the stack of boxes teetering within her arms. _Blasted opening day preparations! They are making everyone crazy!_

The entire Opera house was in an upheaval as every employee, from the managers on down to the lowliest stagehand, rushed to finish the final preparations for opening night. Costumes for the chorus were frantically being hemmed whilst they were warming up and the din of a hundred hammers droned endlessly in the background, making any attempt at conversation impossible. Crouching uncomfortably upon their hands and knees, a crew of twenty was adding the final touches to the giant backdrops even as racks full of finished costumes rolled by. Red-faced workers hauled hundreds of pounds of heavy velvet curtain to be hung the next day. The air itself seemed to take on the character of those rushing through it, hanging hot and stretched thin, making it impossible for one to catch one's breath in the closeness of the backstage.

Picking her way through a crowd of sweaty stagehands, Brielle grappled with the small mountain of boxes in her hands, trying desperately not to get clobbered by the mad rush swirling all around her. Shifting her cumbersome load, she picked up her skirts to jump over a coiled pile of ropes upon the ground. Ignoring the sticky trickle of sweat sliding down the curve of her cheek, she picked up her pace, wanting to get clear of the stage and into a less crowded area. Turning a corner, Brielle let out a sigh as she moved into the quieter hallway housing the dressing rooms. It was cooler here, and she allowed herself a moment to readjust the dustcloth covering her hair.

Carlotta, never the one to react well to stress, had been strangely subdued the last few days. The prima donna had stuck close to her rooms, practicing her arias with a fevered determination and spending long hours prodding Brielle on subjects that ranged from hairstyle to how not to strain her voice. When she had heard her costumes were ready though, she was quick to order Brielle out to go and retrieve them. Returning now from her fifth trip Brielle made her way to Carlotta's room carrying the heavy load of shoe boxes. Grappling with the dressing room door, she nearly fell through when the doorknob was pulled inward out of her hand.

Standing just inside the doorway, Carlotta took in Brielle's slightly frazzled appearance with a raised eyebrow. "Where 'ave you been? You take too long."

Cursing under her breath in Gaelic, Brielle moved past Carlotta and set the boxes down on a dresser. Pressing a hand against the crick in her back, she turned to Carlotta with a carefully neutral expression. "Well, first I went to the costume department in order to pick up your shoes, but then I was told that the costume mistress had moved them because they needed more room. So then I had to run up three flights to find someone who could tell me where they had put them. Then Meg came to tell me that she was letting her mother watch Aria for a little while."

During her long speech Carlotta made a face and shut the door. "Yes, yes you can stop now. I see, I see. You bore me already," the diva said as she plopped into a chair and began opening the stack of boxes to inspect the shoes.

Pulling up another chair, Brielle fell into it gratefully, glad for the rest from the hectic pace of the Opera House preparations. Raising a hand to tug at her hair covering again, she missed Carlotta's scrutiny from over the tops of the shoe boxes. Slowly the diva pushed the boxes away and folded her hands in her lap.

"Why do you wrap your hair dat way?"

Caught off guard by the question Brielle snatched her fingers away. "Hmm?"

Pointing to her own crown of dark curls Carlotta repeated herself. "Why…do…you…wrap…your…hair…dat…way?"

"No reason. Just to get it out of my way," Brielle hedged, feeling for the first time as if she missed the itchy wig she used to wear.

"It makes you look like a servant."

Smiling sweetly Brielle sat up straighter. "Well, that makes perfect sense, seeing as I work for you."

Flashing an amused smile, the diva rested her chin lightly on the palm of her hand. "Dat is true. You are a funny…eh…person. I am glad you are back." Surprised by the unexpectedly truthful statement, Brielle's smile slipped slightly, but before she could respond Carlotta rushed on. "When you were gone I 'ad no one to carry my tings."

Shaking her head with a laugh, Brielle rolled her eyes. "Yes, how terrible it must have been for you. No one to carry your things or to peer into the future for you. Speaking of which, you haven't asked me to read your cards since I came back."

Shrugging, Carlotta got to her feet and plucked a small handbag from a tabletop. "Eh, maybe I 'aven't worried lately. I realize dis when I heard dat Christine was sneaking around."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I realize she is off being a nobody and I am still 'ere and people still come to see me," Carlotta reasoned airily.

"Well that is very wise of you," Brielle mumbled from behind a hand, trying to muffle the laughter struggling to escape her mouth.

Nodding sagely, Carlotta strolled to the door. "You come wit me now. We must go to pick up my gown for de mask party. I 'ad it sent out because the dressmakers 'ere would ruin it."

Sighing, Brielle felt her shoulders sag tiredly. "Why do I have to go? I just got back from dragging your blessed shoes all over the Opera House!"

Pausing at the doorway, Carlotta raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You 'ave to go because I am going to buy you another wig and you must be dere so it fits properly."

Her mouth fell open slightly in shock. "…What would I need a wig for?"

A slow and knowing smile spread across the diva's face, brightening her dark eyes with a rare moment of merriment. "What? You tink I didn't know dat you always cover your hair? I spend my whole life in de theater. I know a wig when I see one. And I also know dat you now are using dat ugly rag," she said as she pointed at the dark cloth knotted about Brielle's hair.

Caught off guard by Carlotta's apparent philanthropy, Brielle merely blinked up at the imperious woman for several moments. Slowly a wash of color worked its way into her cheeks, making her face burn bright red with embarrassment. "Oh, no…you don't have to do that. It isn't something important…I…"

Frowning now, Carlotta stamped the heel of her shoe against the floor with an audible click. "You lie. If it was not important you wouldn't cover your hair. Now you will come with me because I say so!" Whirling about, the diva opened the door and swept out into the hallway dramatically, not bothering to look back to see if Brielle was in fact following her.

Getting hastily to her feet, the Irishwoman chased after her employer. Coming up alongside the taller woman, Brielle felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Well, I suppose I should be thanking you, then. It is a very kind offer that you are…"

Waving a hand in Brielle's face, Carlotta cut her off. "Shhh, stop dat. I am only embarrassed to have such a ragged-looking ting following me. Noting more…"

"Uh-huh…" Brielle grunted with a knowing smirk, never once believing in the arrogant indifference with which the singer continued to address her. Moving along next to Carlotta as the diva waded into the crush of the backstage workers, Brielle found the first moment of the day when she didn't have something pressing to worry about, and so her mind began to wander. _I wonder what he has been doing today, _she thought with a sigh. Though she tried hard to prevent it, his latest actions had struck her straight in her heart, bloodying her feelings just as surely as if he had raged venom at her. In a way she would have preferred an open argument, she could handle his temper, but this quiet frustration and unspoken worries were something she did not know how to face. An ache which was growing more and more familiar wheedled its way into her heart; she wanted to help him but she had no idea how to go about it.

_I will have to root him out long enough to talk to him. Lord knows I cannot go back into those blasted tunnels on my own again. _Worrying her lip between her teeth, she hardly noticed anything around her as she trailed behind Carlotta's imposing figure. Without realizing it, her fears started to seep up through the floorboards of her mind. _Maybe he has realized this isn't what he expected. I shouldn't have pushed…I should have been happy with friendship. But I couldn't be happy in living such a half life. And now…now maybe he is backing out. It has been two days and I have hardly even seen him, much less spoken to him…he hasn't touched me in two days…_

Biting down hard, Brielle forcibly turned that dark doubting voice in her head off. _It is useless overthinking these things. I will just have to face the problem head on. I will pin him down sometime and force him to admit what is bothering him._ Feeling slightly better, she squared her shoulders and silently followed Carlotta out one of the Opera's side doors.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hunched broodingly atop a stacked pile of pale rolls of cloth, the very same material that when painted became the theater's backdrops, Erik glared balefully at a nearby wall. He didn't dare haunt his usual spot directly above the stage for fear that with the increased activity someone would catch a glimpse of him, and if that happened he knew what would happen next. The mob and the torches. And so the last few days had been spent lurking in the deepest recesses of the backstage, keeping close to the shadows and far away from all the noise and light of the work crews. It had been a miserable two days.

He had become so used to human contact, to watching the lives of others play out under his feet, that to be without it was a sudden and harsh shock to his senses. It left him feeling strangely empty inside, like a hunger pain that couldn't be satisfied. With a start he recognized the loneliness curling within him and the discovery sent his thoughts spiraling even further downwards.

In all his years living alone, and mostly unnoticed, within the Opera, he had never once felt this new biting pain. There had always been something to do, something to learn, that he never paused long enough to scrutinize his own solitary existence. He had never felt the annoying kinship with the other inhabitants of the theater which now seemed to plague his every moment. It had been so easy to look down upon them with a certain level of disgust. He had been separate from the human race then, better than the teeming and petty masses of mankind, a being far superior to all others, stalking the night and making music that none could even dream to surpass.

Of course, that had been before he had met Brielle. Her quietly determined care for him whilst he had been recovering at her house had forced him to face a terrible fact: that the human race was not completely formed out of cruelty and hatred. There were some who did not fear him. It had been in those first mystifying weeks under her care that he could no longer claim that his life had known no moment of kindness, and later on when he had grown to look upon her with a certain level of affection it had become impossible to hold himself separate any longer. Her friendship had forced him to step down from his high place and rejoin mankind.

Thinking of Brielle sharpened the void's edges within him, turning the aching loneliness into an almost physical pain. Grinding his teeth together, he shifted upon his perch, raising both hands up to rake through his hair. _What am I going to do? I cannot ask her to stay here forever, to live underground in a stinking sewer like an animal. But how can I leave this place…it is in my blood. I have hardly known anything else. _Peering out from between his fingers he felt despair growing ever thicker within him. _I do not think I have the strength to face the real world after hiding from it for so long. I can still picture the exact look on people's faces when they saw me. Seeing that look again now…it would be like being back in that cage all those years ago. And yet…I know I cannot give her up…I cannot go back to how I was. I will never be so comfortable in the darkness now that I know what it feels like to be welcome in the light._

Growling in frustration, Erik flopped backwards to lie flat on his back, glaring up at the ceiling above him. Prepared to further contemplate his own terrible existence, Erik was slightly started to hear a series of footsteps echoing up to him from the floor. Raising up on one elbow, he carefully peered down to the floor far below. Seeing no one at first, a frown soon wrinkled his brow as he tried to locate where the sounds were coming from. A wicked sounding little giggle broke through the relative quiet of the room, giving the newcomer away as being one of the resident children. _What in the world are they doing prowling about?_ he wondered as he skulked backwards, carefully swinging down from his hiding place to land quietly onto the floor.

Standing with his back pressed against the wall, he listened as the footsteps drew closer. The shuffling sounds moved slowly in a rambling, unconcerned manner, making him certain that he had not been seen. Relaxing slightly with this realization, Erik let out a breath, his mind already turning back to the weight of his worries. He had hardly sunk back into his brood before the patter of footsteps suddenly sounded directly around the corner of the unused pile of backdrops. Before Erik could make a move, a small body leapt out from around the corner directly in front of him, nearly making his heart stop within his chest.

"B-BOOO!"

Falling back against the wall, Erik cursed loudly, his surprised reaction causing the dark-haired child before him to break out into another fit of laughter. Clapping her hands together in delight, Aria grinned up at him, her eyes glittering with the mischief she had just caused. "D-Did I scare you?"

Raising a hand up to rub at his eyes, Erik waited a moment for his heart to settle down. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. You shouldn't jump out at people like that."

Not affected by the sternness in his tone, Aria wrinkled her nose. "H-How come?"

"Because I could have knocked you senseless!" he hissed, some of his earlier dark mood breaking into his voice.

Tilting her head to the side slightly, she studied him for a moment, looking very much like her mother with her wide, laughing eyes. "N-No you wouldn't. S-Sorry if I scared you b-bad though," she said in such a way that he was sure she wasn't sorry at all.

Taking a steadying breath, Erik frowned at Aria, hoping that she would stop grinning at him as she was. It was difficult to lecture her when she simply continued to stare at him so brightly. "What are you doing running around on your own? You should know better than that. You could have gotten hurt…"

Her smiled dimmed slightly then and she stared fiddling with the lace at the hem of her dress. "I am n-not on my own. I just left Madame Giry behind for a little bit."

Rolling his eyes at the obvious holes in that statement, Erik took a step forward and gave a quick search of their surroundings. "Of course you were."

"No, I w-was not," came the indignant reply.

Seeing no one else in the vicinity, Erik reached out and laid a hand on Aria's shoulder, quickly ushering her along back towards the more populated areas of the Opera. "I do not see the point in arguing with you further on the subject. Your mother is going to be furious."

"But I w-wasn't on my own! I w-was l-looking for you!" Aria pressed, craning her neck back so that she could look up at him.

Flabbergasted, Erik shook his head and wondered if all the members of Brielle's family were naturally as contrary as she or if it was their upbringing which had made them so. "All right then. I see your point," he conceded at last.

"I h-haven't seen you in a l-long long time. Where h-have you been?" Aria demanded without preamble, her little face scrunching up as he continued to guide her along in front of him.

Feeling strangely foolish under her gaze, Erik grimaced. "I was thinking."

"I m-missed you though. You s-shouldn't have stayed away."

"Perhaps you should not be so reliant on my presence," he muttered without thinking.

Aria came to an abrupt stop then, nearly causing Erik to trip over her. Turning around in his grip, the child landed a punch against his leg. "D-Don't say mean things like that. I d-don't like it when you go away. And you always d-do it on purpose."

The hurt in her expression was blatantly obvious as she glared up at him, her bottom lip jutting out stubbornly. Turning his eyes away from her, Erik felt very much the rat. In the two days he had been off moping he hadn't once thought what his absence would do to those left behind. _This is exactly the reason I am not the meant for any of this. I was hurting her and didn't even realize it._

"Aria, I cannot always be with you and your mother…"

"W-Why not? D-Don't you l-like us anymore? I t-thought you w-were h-happy w-with us. You aren't g-going to r-run away again a-are you?" she asked quietly, her stuttering growing worse as she became more agitated.

Kneeling down so that he was on eye level with the child, Erik took hold of both her shoulders until she raised her gaze to his. "You do not understand. I am not good for you. That is what I realized. That is why I have been staying away. I am not the man you should want to be around. I am not good with children…or with people in general. You cannot rely on me."

Aria took his news quietly, pressing her lips together in disapproval just as he had seen Brielle do a hundred times. "P-People do not g-get to choose l-like that," she said after a moment. "I c-could have told you that and s-saved you the time thinking about it. N-No one picks their f-families. You j-just are a family. G-good or b-bad…B-But I think you are very g-good." Giving Erik a poke in the chest to punctuate her point, Aria let out a breath, obviously believing she was stating something he should already know.

There was a moment in which his thoughts came to a complete stop. Aria's words hit against the darkness in his mind and broke through the worries, causing his shoulders to slump in confusion. Opening his mouth to respond, Erik found that he couldn't formulate a good answer. The child had a point that he couldn't argue with and her simple logic put his constant second guessing to shame. Perhaps she didn't realize it but she had basically included him as a member of her family, a fact that had not escaped Erik's notice. Lowering his head to stare at the floor, the masked man felt his eyebrows draw down into a thoughtful line.

_You do not choose… Damn it all… It does seem to be out of my hands now. Everything that has happened has been beyond my control. Brielle finding me in the cellars of the theater instead of the mob… Her taking care of me despite how I treated her. If it had been anyone else I would have died. If it had been anyone else I wouldn't have come to care. It couldn't have been more perfect if it had been planned all along…guided by an unseen hand. For God's sake, she was the one who showed me a bit of kindness when I was a child working for the gypsies. We do not choose…_

Slowly the worry lines around his eyes and mouth smoothed out, replaced with a solemn sort of sadness. Raising a hand, he smoothed his fingers down over her dark hair, wondering the whole time how a mere babe had become smarter than him. "So you want me to stay nearby, then? Even though I am always mean-spirited?"

Flashing a dimpled smile, Aria nodded enthusiastically. "Yep! T-That is the w-way it is supposed to be. I knew you w-would figure it out eventually." Stepping forward, Aria wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hug. Turning her face into his neck, he could feel her smiling next to his skin. "You aren't b-bad for us. You t-taught M-Momma to laugh again. I w-wouldn't want anyone else b-but you."

With his hands hanging useless at his sides, Erik silently stored her words away within the vaults of his memory banks, hoping against hope that he would some day be worthy of such devotion. _I wish it were that simple. _"Ah, Love…" he sighed, unable to put anything else he was feeling into words.

Pulling away slightly, Aria giggled. "T-That is what M-Momma calls me, too. You s-should really t-talk to her. I can tell s-she is worried about you. At n-night she s-still has b-bad dreams. But s-she won't talk about them to Uncle C-Conner."

Distracted momentarily from his own inner turmoil, Erik felt a stab of irritation flash through him. "She has been having bad dreams these last two nights!" When Aria nodded, Erik pressed his lips together as he stared off to the side with narrowed eyes. _Blast that woman's stubborn nature. She should know better than to keep something like that to herself. She should have told me!_

Reaching out, Aria poked him in the middle of his forehead, her eyes looking bright as polished silver as she shook her head at him. "You w-weren't there, r-remember."

Startled from his righteous annoyance with Brielle, Erik blinked stupidly for a moment. "I did not say anything…I…" Then as realization dawned on him a slow smile lit his face. "Ah, I keep forgetting how…er…perceptive you are. But you are right…" he said, getting quickly to his feet. _Damnit I should not have stayed away so long. She needed me and I wasn't there._

"I need to talk to your mother."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Having hired a taxi, Carlotta and Brielle arrived at the shopping district in record time. Brielle stood by as the diva fussed and complained as she inspected her ball gown for half an hour. Growing tired of the dramatics, Brielle finally stepped in as the poor tailor's advocate, pointing out all the virtues of the very expensive dress despite Carlotta's apparent dissatisfaction. Finally, after much prodding on Brielle's part, the diva gave in and paid the tailor, having the man wrap up the beautifully made costume and address it to be delivered later that day.

Breezing out of the shop with Brielle on her heels, Carlotta's normally pinched face broke out into a smile. "Yes, dat was fun, no? I didn't even tell you to and you played the part! We got him to lower de price by five percent."

Startled, Brielle looked at her employer with an uncertain frown. "You were doing that on purpose, then? Shame on you."

"Yes, of course. Dose dressmakers will rob you blind. I always do dat." Laughing at Carlotta's deviousness, Brielle could only shake her head. "Now we go to de other shop."

"You really do not have to."

"We already talked about dis. I have decided," Carlotta stated with the wave of one hand as she led the way down the street away from the dress shops. Her dark eyes scanning the signs above the doors, the diva came to a stop in front of a fancy wigmaker's shop. Pushing open the door, Carlotta swept in with such an air of authority that both of the employees within the store jumped to attention. "I am looking for something for my assistant," she announced loudly. "So be quick about it."

Within moments, Brielle was presented with several choices. Unused to such deferential treatment, it took her a moment to regain her composure. Finally she settled on a high quality wig of black, which closely matched her first one. Feeling slightly uncomfortable when Carlotta paid for the thing, Brielle felt a light blush burning in her cheeks. Wearing her new set of hair out of the shop she had to admit how much nicer a disguise it was over a handkerchief, and it did not itch as her first wig had. Following Carlotta down the street, her discomfort faded when she noticed how smugly pleased the diva seemed to be with herself. _Well, if it makes her so happy then I suppose I shouldn't let it bother me. _

Hiring another taxi without a word to her, Carlotta kept a catlike grin on her face all the way back to the opera house. Climbing the Opera's stairs, the diva looked over her shoulder at Brielle. "I must practice after dis but I want you to stay and watch for awhile. Dat spray you gave me awhile ago is very good I tink. But I want to make sure you say it is working right. Very important, de voice, when de performance is so close."

"All right, I will stay."

Nodding as if she didn't expect any other answer, the diva swept through the Opera House, quickly coming to the stage area where several other members of the ensemble were waiting. "I want to practice on de stage today," she declared loudly, purposely throwing her voice so that all the workers nearby would hear as well, and thereby indicating that they should stop what they were doing immediately. Used to her odd demands, all the hammering and chattering stopped, throwing the auditorium into a sudden hush.

Moving off to one side, Brielle took up a post in front of a side curtain in one of the wings, watching the chorus members quickly scurry to get into their proper places and the conductor scramble through his sheet music after Carlotta stated where she wanted to start. Without the orchestra there they were forced to make do with just the piano for guidance. Smiling to herself, Brielle wondered at the terror Carlotta so easily instilled in those around her. _I wonder what it must be like to make grown men quake in their boots as she does. _

The practice got off to a good start, no one missed their cues and, despite the lack of instrumental backup, no one wandered off pitch. Carlotta wove her way across the stage with all her usual drama, but Brielle was pleasantly surprised to find that she no longer winced when the diva's parts came up. Though every note still dripped with an overstudied air, the high notes now seemed to lack the strain that they once had. Carlotta was sounding better than she had in years.

Pleased in whatever small part she had in this improvement, Brielle folded her hands before her, becoming lost in the music and the drama playing out onstage. When Carlotta looked to her during a lull in the practice, Brielle gave her a big smile of encouragement. Seemingly puffed up by this approval, the diva continued on with even more flair in her acting than before, forcing several of the chorus members to cover their laughter at her histrionics. Tapping her foot along to a livelier piece, Brielle didn't notice the curtain behind her shift slightly as a body moved behind it.

"Brielle?" a hushed whisper hissed very close to her ear.

Visibly jumping at the sound, the Irishwoman turned her head with a frown, her heart skittering within her chest when she thought she recognized the deep baritone. "Erik? Where in the world are you?"

"Behind the curtain, of course," came the quick reply. "I must speak with you."

Pressing her lips together into a line, Brielle folded her arms over her chest. She hadn't realized until just then how irritated she had become over his long absence. "So speak."

"Could you not step back here for a moment? I do not think it wise for me to come forward and…"

"No, I cannot." A short irritated snort sounded from behind the curtain at her reply but Brielle didn't move. "Where have you been the last two days?"

"I found that I needed some time to think."

"For two whole days?" Brielle demanded incredulously. "Do you know how worrying it is to have a person simply disappear for that long? I didn't know what had happened to you. You didn't even leave word as to what you were up to."

"Yes, yes…I believe we have established by now how terrible I am at that. I am not used to having to leave word behind. You will have to excuse my lapse," Erik's voice stated from behind the curtain, growing slightly sharper the more Brielle antagonized him.

Opening her mouth to respond over her shoulder, Brielle shut it again when a stagehand strolled by. She smiled at the man and waited for him to pass before she turned her head back toward the curtain. Sensing Erik's irritation like a wave of heat upon her back, Brielle purposely set about goading him, feeling it just punishment for his inconsiderate treatment of her. "I have yet to actually hear an apology fall from your lips, sir. And though I know how you are loath to admit when you are in the wrong, I do know that you are capable of it."

"Brielle…" Erik growled from behind her. "I did have something specific I wished to discuss with you."

Ignoring what he had just said, Brielle barreled on, knowing perfectly well how much it annoyed him when she did so. "One would think that a man would treat his lover with slightly more respect, you know."

"Brielle!" Erik snapped, his voice tinged more with embarrassment now than anger. "Must you speak so openly of…well… Someone could hear you and…"

"Well, what am I to say?"

"You could say friends…or something else less…"

"Suggestive?" Brielle supplied when Erik's voice trailed off. A flabbergasted grunt sounded from behind her then and she was sure she heard him begin to pace on his side of the curtain. "Of course not all friends act as we do. Last time I checked I hadn't slept with my other friends."

A loud curse burst out at her words and Brielle felt a hand wrap around her upper arm, dragging her backward into the concealing darkness behind the curtain. Falling against the warm expanse of Erik's chest, Brielle glanced upward to take in his furious expression. His eyes cut through the shadows, flashing with temper as a muscle in the side of his jaw ticked in and out. Pleased that she had accomplished her goal, Brielle's own irritation faded slightly and she beamed up at him.

Seeing her light expression, Erik's grip tightened around her arms. "Were you purposely goading me!" he barked at her.

"Only a little bit."

Closing his eyes, Erik gathered what reserves of willpower remained. Brielle could tell from the tight way he held his mouth that he very much wanted to throttle her at that moment. "Why in the world would you feel the need to purposely antagonize me?" he hissed finally, glaring down at her with such intensity that she was sure he would burn a hole right through the middle of her forehead.

"So that you would know just a little bit of how it felt to have you take off without a by-your-leave."

"Don't you think I have felt bad enough? Why else do you think I stayed away in the first place?"

Trying to shake off his grip, Brielle raised her hands to press against his chest, her fingers curling in the lapels of his jacket. "Do you know what it means to a woman when she allows herself to be seduced and then her man disappears without word?"

"Seduced!"

"All right, so maybe it was me who seduced you. But in either case the result is the same!"

Falling into silence they stood locked together for a heady moment, the sound of their breathing rushing through the air and blocking out all other sound. Despite their bickering, Brielle had the sudden and uncontrollable urge to raise up onto her toes and cover his frowning mouth with hers. Rolling forward onto the balls of her feet, Brielle felt her lips part slightly, her eyes dropping from his to fix upon the downward curve of his sinful lips. Completely losing her train of thought, she hardly noticed when he cleared his throat and attempted to continue the conversation.

"As I said, I did not consider how my absence would affect…er…everyone," he mumbled, his voice going rough and low as he turned his head to the side, purposely breaking eye contact with her.

Closing her eyes to try and clear her head, Brielle slowly drew back from him. "Oh, it is all right. I know you don't always think things through when you get into one of your moods," she said easily, the annoyance which had been fueling the fight draining out of her. "What was it you said you wanted to talk to me about?"

Finally releasing his hold on her, Erik took a careful step back. "Aria told me that you have been dreaming at night these last few days."

Caught off guard by this drastic change in subject Brielle could only gape up at him. "Huh?"

"But they aren't just dreams, are they? And the nightmare you had when I was with you…that wasn't just a dream either. Was it?"

"No, I don't suppose it was…" Brielle allowed.

"Now do not try to deny it I know that…wait, what?" Erik stuttered, not quite believing that she had given in without the usual fight.

"I said no…they are not just dreams," Brielle repeated. "I know what they are. I didn't want to admit it earlier because I felt as if I did that it would make it real. But like usual I cannot make any sense out of them…I wake up in a cold sweat but I do not know why."

Erik remained quiet for a moment after her confession. "What do we do, then? Shouldn't we do something?" he asked in a whisper, worried lines bracketing the corners of his mouth.

Reaching out to pat his chest comfortingly, Brielle flashed an optimistic smile. "There is nothing to be done but keep a watchful eye. Or wait until something else comes to me."

His brows drew down into a dark line above his eyes as he contemplated her words. "I do not like simply waiting about for some evil event to fall upon me."

"I know…neither do I, but that seems to be how it works usually."

Raising a hand up to scratch his chin, Erik turned and walked down the long tunnel that lay between the curtains in front and behind them, motioning over his shoulder for her to follow. Hurrying after him, Brielle followed upon his coattails as he wove his way away from the stage and into a quieter area behind the stage. She could tell from the way that he hunched his shoulders that he was already fretting over what she had told him. Catching up to him after leaving the crowds behind, Brielle reached out and took a hold of his shoulder, forcing him to turn around and face her.

"Now I believe it is my turn to ask a question. What is it that has been bothering you these last two days?" Knowing this was a loaded question, Brielle thought to get his mind off of her and her dreams; she was rather surprised when he paled under her gaze and dropped his eyes to the floor.

"I do not wish to say."

Taken aback by his reaction to her question, Brielle stood in silence, watching the play of guilt and misery wash over his features, leaving him look ragged and terribly vulnerable. She had simply assumed that he had spent the time in the grip of one of his moods. Softening her stance, Brielle reached out to take his hand but he drew away. "All right, if you really do not want to…"

Spinning away from her, Erik stalked over to a group of chairs and fell into one. "I mean I really shouldn't weigh everyone else down with my own flaws and worries. You have enough on your mind as it is."

Biting her lip, Brielle didn't say anything when Erik paused, hoping that he would continue his story if she did not interrupt. She did not have long to wait. When she didn't urge him onward, Erik glanced up at her searchingly. "Please, just do not ask."

Shrugging her shoulders, Brielle moved forward and sat down in a chair opposite him, keeping her mouth firmly shut. "I mean…really it is my problem. You cannot help that I am entirely unequipped for loving another human being. I have never waded out into the world before of my own free will and I do not know how to navigate its realities. I cannot act as normal men do…I cannot associate or make friends…I cannot work at a trade…And I know I could not bear people's stares again…" he murmured, his eyes searching the floor as his internal monolog spilled out of his mouth.

Shocked by what she was hearing, Brielle felt a both a thrill of pure pleasure and the painful pricking of empathy work their way through her. One word in his speech had sparked the delight to glow within her, for he had stated that he did not know how to _love _someone. _That means…even though he hasn't told me…that he must feel a part of what I feel for him. He must love me…at least a little…to say such a thing…to worry about such things._ Grinning unconsciously, Brielle missed it when Erik gave her an odd look that quickly sharpened and turned ugly.

"What about what I just said is funny to you?" he snapped, slowly uncurling from the chair to stand trembling a few feet from her.

Without missing a beat Brielle stood as well, practically brimming with excitement. Though of course she could not admit why, she would have to wait until he could say the words directly to her instead of in this roundabout way, but at least now she knew for a fact that the sentiment must be there. "I am not mocking you, Erik…do not fly into a rage so quickly. I was just thinking that you are selling your skills short. You have already made friends with Conner…you have learned how to love my daughter…You have maneuvered your way through the mazelike dynamics of my family life…You know how to teach and how to write music. There has been nothing you were unable to learn."

Puffing up slightly at how easily she contradicted him, Erik shook a finger in her direction. "That is not the same! I am speaking of something entirely different!"

"Ach, if you say so," she returned incredulously. "But I think you have just been wasting your time these last two days. I could have fixed your blasted worries if you had come to speak to me earlier. You know it is the same. You have come a long way from last year, Erik. You are not the Phantom of the Opera anymore…you have relearned how to just be a man. You are perfectly equipped to be Erik now, you just haven't realized it."

A frustrated noise escaped his lips as he raised a hand to rake through his hair, standing it up in all manner of unnatural directions. "No…no…it is not that easy. If it were that simple I would have realized it…"

"You are not the Lord almighty Erik…you do sometimes not see the obvious," Brielle said calmly, watching his movements as the man before her began to pace back and forth.

Ripping his hands from his hair, Erik let out a furious curse and stalked right up to her, until they practically stood nose to nose. "Sometimes you drive me to the very brink of madness! Always so calm when I am flying apart at the seams!"

The revelation of his feelings had been enough to numb her to his tantrum up until this point, but even the knowledge that he truly loved her was not enough of a buffer between her temper and his. "And happy I would be to push you right on over that brink by the way you are acting now, sir," Brielle stated with an overly sweet smile plastered across her face.

With eyes flashing wild as flying daggers, Erik reached out and wrapped a hand around one side of her throat, using his thumb to tilt her face upward. Before even surprise could register in Brielle's brain she felt his mouth crushing against hers, bruising and furious as their bodies slammed together. All rational thought melted away as heated passion, tempered by their combined anger, rushed wildly through her body. Instantly his hands were upon her, strangely gentle in their exploration of her waist and lower back, a stark contradiction to the savageness of his mouth. Their arguing had been building to this moment, stoking the fires which now burned white hot in her belly, and Brielle would be damned if she would let him do all of the ravaging.

Flinging her arms about his neck, Brielle pressed herself brazenly against the length of him, glorying as her curves melted perfectly into the hard planes and valleys of his abdomen. Growling in response, Erik propelled them both forward until her back was firm against the wall behind her. Brielle was dimly aware of her hands upon the buttons of his clothing but she couldn't exactly place when she had made the decision to do so. Everything was all flash and heat, anger and frustration as Erik broke contact with her mouth and rained a series of burning kisses down the column of her throat. His mouth skirted along the upper edge of her bodice, teasing the swell of her breasts until she gasped his name aloud.

Smiling against her skin she felt his teeth graze across her collarbone, only to be instantly soothed by the sweep of one thumb. "You should not have stayed away so long…" Brielle moaned against the top of his head, her fingers firmly tangled in the darkness of his hair.

Raising his face, Erik seemed to wholeheartedly agree as he returned his mouth to hers in a kiss so wild and desperate that it made Brielle's knees turn to water under her. Stumbling slightly to the side, the couple slid along the length of the wall until they came to a partially open door. Reaching out blindly, Brielle felt the door give under her hand. Jerking upon Erik's jacket lapels, Brielle dragged him into the shadows of the deserted storeroom. Without the worry of being discovered holding them back, their actions became less conscious and more elemental, both longing to fulfill the need roaring through them.

Something stark and powerful began coiling ever tighter within her belly as Erik pushed her backward onto what appeared to be a pile of ancient green velveteen curtains, the burning desire becoming ever more urgent when Erik's hands hiked up her skirts around her waist. Wherever he touched her, her skin hummed to life and whenever he growled her name her soul rejoiced.

Wickedly groping at his pant fastenings Brielle knew only one things for certain, that she couldn't wait one more second for their union because she might die from the agonizing pleasure blazing within every fiber of her being. When he drove into her, joining their straining bodies at last, she dug her nails into the cloth stretching tight across his shoulders. Wrapping her legs around his middle she moved with his every frantic thrust until the pressure building within her finally exploded, sending her mind scattering in a thousand different directions, her body arching up and stiffening as she came to and fell over her peak. A moment later she felt Erik come right behind her.

Dazed by the violence of her reaction to him, Brielle lay gasping for breath upon the soft and slightly musty cloth beneath her, unable to formulate a thought, much less words, at that moment. The weight of Erik's slack body lay heavy and comforting over her for the few moments it took him to regain his composure, but all too soon he lifted off her and sprawled out at her side. Raising a hand up to try and press the stars from her eyes, Brielle stretched languidly, both worn out and completely invigorated by their wild bout.

Rolling onto her side, Brielle propped herself up onto one elbow. "Well," she breathed, a satisfied smile curling her mouth upward. "I suppose that is one thing you are perfectly equipped for."

Erik glanced over at her with a slightly startled expression clouding his eyes. Then suddenly the blue of his eyes brightened and he broke out into a deep belly laugh, his sides shaking with the force of his mirth. "Lord, woman… How can I stay irritable and moody with you around to say such things?"

"It is impossible, sir. It is no use fighting my charms. Just give in."

His smile dimming slightly, Erik reached out and ran a finger along the curve of her cheek. "I should have come to speak with you two days ago."

"Really? It was the speaking part you would have been wanting then?" she teased.

"Yes," he responded, perfectly serious as he curved his palm reverently over her face. "You take my worries and make them seem not so impossible to overcome. I cannot do that on my own."

Turning her face she pressed her lips against the heel of his palm. "Well, that is the beauty of it all…you do not have to try to do it alone anymore."

"No, I don't suppose I do..." he nodded, the blue of his eyes turning dark and calm as the sea on a still summer's day. "Thank you, Bri… Thank you."


	63. Opening Night

**Hey all! Here is the next chapter for your enjoyment. At least my lateness is improving. Less than two weeks. YAY! Once again I have to say a huge thanks to Terpsichore. She had a ton of stuff to do this weekend and today but she was able to get the story edited tonight instead of tomorrow anyway. And also I have to say a huge thanks to ****iluvmyphantom. She did a great pic of Conner that is super cool! I have been having super bad luck with the links lately but I will give this a try. (Just take out the spaces)**

**http// img84 .images hack. us / my. php ? image conner 25 us . jpg**

**Oh and there should be an equal sign in between the words image and conner.**

**So something exciting I figured I would mention. I checked my stats the other day and I noticed that the last ten chapters or so I have gotten well over 1000 page views. 1000! That is so crazy! Hurray! Although another thing I have noticed is that the number of reviews has dropped, which is slightly concerning. So if you guys have time just remember to review! I love hearing from you all. **

**P.S. For those of you who wanted to know the room I mentioned a couple of chapters ago. (The one above the chandelier.) Is an actual room…though I did take some artistic license on the description. **

Chapter 63: Opening Night

Opening night at the opera was just hours away, the excitement of its arrival setting the very air of the theater afire with anticipation. Swarms of ballerinas, already clad in their costumes, ran to and fro, some adding the final touches to their stage makeup while others raced to get their hair properly pinned at the base of their necks. Members of the chorus, only slightly calmer than the teenaged dancers, lounged among the assembled set pieces chatting lightly with one another to dispel the pre-performance butterflies but secretly worrying about the play to come.

So much relied on how well they did tonight, the fate of the theater, their jobs, their very way of life hinged on what happened in the next few hours. If they performed to the best of their ability and recaptured the heart of Paris's highborn, all would be well; rich patrons would return, dipping into their vast pockets to pay the enormous cost of keeping the opera house in business. However, if the unthinkable happened and the curse of Phantom still tainted the very stones of the building, every member of the cast risked losing their only source of reliable income. Needless to say, tension ran high as everyone prepared to meet either triumph or despair at the end of the night.

Determined to at least appear above the petty concerns of the lower masses, the leading performers stuck close to their rooms, checking and rechecking the last little details that either made or broke a performer. Costumes were donned, the ribbons and stays tied and hooked with obsessive care, nerves were soothed with a glass of fine red wine, or several quick shots of whisky.

Carlotta sat before her lit mirrors applying a liberal amount of liner to her dark eyes, a fine tremor in her hands slowing her task. Sitting nearby, Brielle watched her employer with a concerned line creasing her brow. Though she knew the diva would never admit it, Brielle could sense just how nervous the older woman was. All that day the singer had practically spit fire at any who crossed her path, wailing her grievances for all to hear when something did not meet her high standards. Her antics had even begun to wear upon Brielle's steely nerves.

Poking herself in the eye, Carlotta made a furious hissing sound and slammed her lining brush onto the table top. Openly wincing, Brielle waited for the next explosion of the day. The singer leapt to her feet and began tearing angrily around the room, cursing viciously in her native tongue. Sitting up a little straighter, Brielle desperately tried to school her features into an impassive mask, but her own irritation was making the task terribly difficult. She had had just about enough of Carlotta's peevishness.

With a great sigh the Irishwoman raised a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "What is it you are looking for?"

"Everyting! Noting is where it should be! I am an artist! I 'ave no time for this! Damn all those stupid bastards for deserting me in my time of need. You are completely useless! Once I 'ad ten people waiting on me before a show! But now all I 'ave is you and you know noting of opera!" Her chest heaving with each breath, Carlotta threw herself onto a nearby couch, beating her fists against the upholstery with a venomous shriek.

Raising both hands up to cover her ears, Brielle waited for Carlotta to tire herself out, which usually happened within a few minutes when no one paid her any mind. After a few more piercing wails Carlotta raised her head to glare blackly across the room at where Brielle sat, her face starkly white against the darkness of her hair. "I knew it! You 'ate me too!"

Rolling her eyes skyward, Brielle prayed for patience. _Lord, give me strength…no wig is worth this much trouble._ "No one hates you, Carlotta. You are just nervous. But do not take your nervousness out on me. Everything will be fine…if you tell me what to do I can help you."

Staring at her as if she had just grown a second head, Carlotta pulled herself up primly. Puffing up self-righteously, the diva's cheeks flushed red with outrage. "I am not nervous!" she exclaimed, enunciating each word very carefully so Brielle would not mistake her meaning.

Waving a placating hand Brielle nodded. "Fine…have it your way."

"I am famous all over Europe. Opera 'ouses 'ave begged me to perform in their theaters." Seemingly regaining her confidence, Carlotta stomped back to the mirror and began dabbing at her face once more.

Glad to once again be left alone to think, Brielle leaned back in her chair and closed her tired eyes. The days had passed so quickly that she had hardly had a moment to herself, but at least her mind had been more at ease since having spoken with Erik a few days ago. Now she had more of an idea as to what had been plaguing him. And that first conversation had paved the way for others. At night, when he came to her room through the mirror, they whispered in the darkness, safe in the shadows and each other's arms, finding freedom in their newfound openness. She spoke of her nightmares, no longer hiding what she saw, and he of his deep-seated uncertainties. They trusted one another now not to turn away from the unpleasant, the worrying. _I suppose the truth really can set you free. Who would have thought one conversation could accomplish so much?_

_Conversation…uh-huh…_ Blushing at what she and Erik had been doing after their _conversation _she felt her skin come alive with the memory of his hands upon her. Remembering their wild wantonness now was like a brand against her senses, warming her blood until she was forced to fan herself with one hand. It had been the first time that Erik had actually dared to be the instigator, touching her without any clear encouragement, and the change had been most thrilling. Opening her eyes, Brielle sat up straighter, trying to ignore the shivers of delight marching along every nerve ending in her body.

With a start she realized that Carlotta had turned in her chair and was now staring at her. "What?"

Raising an interested eyebrow the diva flashed a toothy smile, momentarily distracted from her preparations. "Who is de man you are tinking of?"

"Who says I was thinking of a man?"

"It is all over your face. I know de look when I see it. 'E must be good from de way you were squirming just now," Carlotta stated with a knowing smugness glittering in her eyes, all peaches and cream now that she had something other than that night's performance to think on. "Please tell me it is not one of de useless stage 'ands."

Extremely uncomfortable under this new scrutiny, Brielle got stiffly to her feet, both hands raised girlishly to cover her red cheeks. "No, not a stagehand. Please can we not speak of this?"

"Come, now, we are both women. 'Ow can you keep such secrets from me? I 'ave 'ad many lovers in my time. I could give you advice, yes?"

"No!" Brielle gasped, horrified at the thought of exchanging such stories. Somehow speaking of Erik with Carlotta went against her every instinct, what she shared with him had so long been a secret that to speak of it aloud would be like cursing during a mass.

Grasping her hands together before her, she tried to temper her tone. "I mean 'no thank you.'"

"You 'ave no reason to be shy," Carlotta admonished with a wave of her makeup brush. "People in de theater take lovers all de time. It is not like de outside where dey say nasty tings about unwed women." Turning back to the mirror with a confident flick of her head, Carlotta patted at her hair. "Besides…you are not really a shy person. So you cannot fool me with all dis blushing."

Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, Brielle worried her bottom lip between her teeth. _I suppose this must be what it feels like to talk about sex with your mother. She is over fifteen years my senior…ick! _"No... not shy…I just do not like speaking about certain things."

"Or 'aving people stare at you?" Carlotta supplied, hitting very close to one of Brielle's biggest problems. "Is it because you 'ave de white hair? I tink it is not so bad…you are too pretty to be running about wit your eyes glued to de floor whenever someone looks at you."

Strangely touched by the diva's backward compliment, Brielle felt her embarrassment fade, a happy smile turning up one corner of her mouth. She was on the verge of thanking her employer when Carlotta interrupted her. "So it is good you take de lover, yes? 'E will work de shyness right out of you." Meeting Brielle's gaze in the mirror, Carlotta flashed a wide, pleased smirk, apparently tickled pink by her own glib remark.

Shaking her head, Brielle edged toward the door. "I think I will just go and take a little walk."

Still grinning, Carlotta shrugged. "Do not let 'im put marks on you where others can see. It is just pushing it to 'ave love marks on de neck. Oh and…"

Picking up her pace, Brielle jerked the dressing room door open, her face blazing once again. "Yes, thanks so much for the advice I have to go now!" she called hurriedly before slamming the door behind her. Leaning back against the polished wood, Brielle took a moment to catch her breath. With her heart pounding within her chest she felt almost as if she had just escaped a firing squad.

_Well I suppose I did the world a service…cheering up Carlotta with my own embarrassment is the act of a bloody saint if I ever heard of one. _Slightly annoyed with herself for allowing the diva to send her running so easily, Brielle raised her hands up to press against her face again. _Lord, I acted like a silly schoolgirl. Gah! _Pushing away from the door, Brielle set off down the busy hallway, trying to put Carlotta's teasing behind her, and hoping to find her brother sometime before the performance in order to wish him luck. _Wait…is wishing him good luck really bad luck? Damn, I can never keep that rule straight. _

Weaving her way down the packed corridor, Brielle turned sideways and attempted to squeeze between two gathered groups. Responding to a few greetings, Brielle gave a few quick and harried waves but did not pause. Being pressed among so many bodies still had the power to make her stomach roll with anxiety. Breaking free from the crush, she struck out toward Conner's dressing room.

"Madame Donner?" Someone shouted from over the crowd, the decidedly English accent giving the speaker away as being the new tenor, James Turner.

Turning to scan the crowd for the man, Brielle felt a moment of annoyance at the delay, but pasting a polite smile on her face she waited until the tall singer caught up to her. "Can I help you with something, Mister Turner?"

Looking rather comical in his overdone stage makeup, James took a moment to catch his breath. "Madame, I was just wondering as to if you would be going to the masque later tonight."

Staring up at the man blankly, Brielle merely shook her head, wondering as to the forwardness of his question. "Assistants rarely are invited to such things, Mister Turner," she said slowly.

"Oh…oh…yes, well, I didn't think of that."

"Besides it wouldn't be appropriate for a single woman to attend such a function on her own."

Brightening at this, James nodded hurriedly, his manner growing more and more odd the longer he stood in front of her. A strange combination of nerves and perhaps even a little fear gave his eyes a certain sharpness Brielle had never noticed before. "Exactly!"

"Exactly what?" Brielle asked, growing more and more confused by the moment.

"Well, I have been watching you for quite some time... You seem to be a pleasant enough woman… after all you are able to stay Carlotta's temper on most occasions. And, well, if you are not planning on going to the masque I would very much like to know where you might be spending your time after the performance. It is my intention to stay close to you through the evening…" Stopping there, he seemed to realize how forward that sounded. "Er…no…sorry that sounded… um… rather…."

Enlightenment came slowly, and as it occurred to her that this man was trying to ask her to the dance Brielle's mouth formed a perfect O of understanding. _At least I think that is what he is trying to do. _Feeling like a dolt for the second time in less than half and hour she raised both hands up to stop James' rambling speech. "I thank you for your invitation, sir, but I hardly know you at all. I am sorry but I am going to have to turn you down."

James' dark eyebrows, their expression exaggerated by the black painted through them, came down into a quick frown. "I have offended you…"

"No, sir. I am not offended but I still am not willing to allow you to continue on in this way," Brielle said slowly, trying to find a polite way out of this conversation. "Thank you once again, but I…" Seeing Father Thomas standing nearby Brielle thought to go and speak to him in order to escape James but then new tenor saw her intention and moved to stop her.

Reaching out quickly, James grabbed hold of Brielle's upper arm, his long thin fingers digging a bit too roughly into her skin. "No, do not go. You have gotten the wrong idea." Growling low in his throat, his eyes danced earnestly over her face. "I have gone about this the wrong way."

Trying to shrug out of his grip, Brielle cast a quick glance around to see if this silly man was already causing a scene. "Mister Turner… release me, sir!"

Taking a step closer to her, James bent his head slightly to the side, his normally dullish eyes flickering with several bright and indefinable emotions. "Come now, just listen for a moment!"

Turning her head to the side, Brielle sought to put some distance between them. He was standing so close to her that she could feel the heat of his body through the material of her dress, smell his nervous sweat hanging in the air around her. It took about half a second for her to become incredibly uncomfortable with his nearness, but before she could even open her mouth to tell the man he was overstepping his bounds, she saw the tenor's avid expression collapse in upon itself. His eyes jerked suddenly away from her and stared at a spot over her right shoulder, his entire face draining quickly of color. Without even turning around Brielle felt a dark, menacing presence approach from behind, a very familiar dark, menacing presence.

A white-gloved hand shot out around her shoulder and shoved James with enough force to knock the man back several steps. "The lady said to release her, pig!" a low voice growled threateningly, so close behind her that her hair shifted with each furious breath, sending delightful shivers shimmying along her nerve endings, immediately she knew who her rescuer was.

"Touch her again and I will remove your hands from your body!" Strong fingers wrapped firmly around her shoulder then, hurrying her off to one side, and away from where James Turner was regaining his balance with Father Thomas's help.

Allowing herself to be whisked off through the crowd, Brielle glanced quickly over her shoulder. The man behind her was roguishly dressed in the costume of one of Mephistopheles' demons in Faust, covered in black from head to toe, his entire face covered in a grimacing black mask, leaving only his frowning mouth for the world to see. She could not see any distinguishing feature on his face but still she knew him; knew him as surely as she knew her own thoughts. _Erik…_

A thrill of excitement mixed with just a little fear galloped through her nervous system. She had never seen him out in public before, where so many could look upon them together and possibly recognize him. Rushing along with his hand planted between her shoulder blades Brielle couldn't help but marvel at the ease with which he moved among the crowd. His natural predatory grace, the efficiency of his long-legged gait, gave him an air of confidence that seemed almost supernatural in origin.

With her breath catching in her throat, Brielle flashed Erik a worried smile. "What in the world are you doing?"

Without pausing in his stride the masked man grimaced. "He put his hands upon you," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Damned singer touched you."

Turning her head around to look straight ahead, Brielle twisted her body slightly to shrug his hand off of her back. She reached around to take his hand in hers but he latched onto her upper arm instead, his gaze darting about their surroundings to make sure they were not being followed. Even as they passed into a less occupied area his agitation showed no signs of abating; if anything his movements became more stiffened with fury with each step he took.

"He did not hurt me, Erik. There is no need to be so angry," Brielle offered, hoping to ease him out of his black mood as she ran to keep up with his hurried pace.

"I should have ripped his arm out of its socket…" Erik muttered to himself, ignoring Brielle's statement.

"For God's sake, Erik, can we stop now? Your legs are longer than mine and I am beginning to have trouble keeping up with you!" Blinking as if he had just heard her for the first time the masked man turned his attention to her, slowing his steps as his burning eyes came to rest upon her face. "Now… what in the world are you doing? Running around and pushing people for no reason. Has your brain been gathering wool lately? Someone could have recognized you!"

Behind the black mask the blue of his eyes glittered sharp as broken river ice in the sun. "Do you honestly think I would stay in the shadows as some cad practically dripped his stink all over you?"

Brielle took a breath to respond but found that her mouth had gone completely dry. _He is jealous… _she thought with a certain amount of wonder. _He saw Mr. Turner grab my arm and it made him jealous. So much so that he stepped out into the world without a second thought… _There was something sinfully exciting about this knowledge, that his feelings for her were so strong to affect him so. A slow, crooked smile stole across her face as she reached out and gently brushed her thumb over his frowning mouth.

"You are so full of malarkey sometimes," she said, the laughter behind her words and the playfulness in her touch diffusing some of the edge in his eyes. "But really you cannot go about knocking people off their feet!"

His glare lasted a moment longer before deflating on a long sigh. "I did not like it when he presumed to push his company upon you. It was his own fault. Besides, I did hold back. I didn't hit him in the face…" he grumbled. "But he really shouldn't have touched you…"

Finding his version of holding back funny, Brielle could only roll her eyes. She knew she should be slightly more serious about this mild display of violence, but secretly she was glad he had hit the singer. The man _had_ been getting on her nerves. _Blast it…soon Erik will have me attacking people as well. _Thinking to tease the last threads of his temper from him, Brielle tilted her head flirtingly to one side. "Oh? And why is that?"

Without missing a beat, and with all seriousness, Erik jumped to reply. "Because you are mine," he snapped.

Though the blatant chauvinistic threads in that statement should have irritated her, Brielle found her reaction being exactly the opposite. She was immensely pleased and strangely enough she found that she didn't have a snappy remark to throw back at him. Instead she raised up onto her toes and pressed a kiss against his mouth, startling him out of his frown.

"As if I would go to a party with anyone but you," she managed to say after a moment.

"You do not really want to go to that thing do you?" Erik asked gruffly. "What with all the people… All the snobbery of Paris really."

Shrugging easily, Brielle shook her head. "Oh, no. Not really. I never was one for parties but I think it would be the tiniest bit entertaining to see all the pomp." Then after a moment's more thought, "And to see if you remember the dance steps I taught you."

The fire in his eyes cooled and a slow, sweet smile spread across his face, memories of that magical night melting the hard edges of the man standing before her. "As if I could have forgotten. In fact, I dare say that should we ever dance again that I may teach you something."

"Sweet Mary…may she help you escape this sinful arrogance," Brielle responded, making the sign of the cross with a laugh. "But I would very much like to know who you have been practicing with, Erik. Perhaps I should go and knock her off her feet as well. Or perhaps…"

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted Brielle's train of thought. "Brielle?" Meg's voice exclaimed happily from a few feet away.

Whirling away from Erik with a guilty and startled expression, Brielle watched Meg come bouncing up to them, looking very pretty in her angelic dancing costume. Conner soon appeared behind the blonde, his hair, for once, tied neatly at the base of his neck in preparation for the upcoming performance. Her wide dewy eyes flickering curiously between Erik and Brielle, Meg flashed a beaming smile at both of them. Beside her Brielle felt Erik stiffen under Meg's scrutiny. Before his anger must have insolated him against the touch of others' eyes, but now with the younger Giry standing just feet away, Brielle could practically see the tension radiating from his stiffened posture.

"Oh, Bri. This is all so exciting isn't it? I always love performance nights. I have missed it more than I thought," she said hurriedly, her golden curls practically shivering with her every movement.

Coming up behind Meg, Conner gave a short wave and a tight-lipped smile, his fairy green eyes flickering uneasily to Erik. "Meg saw you from across the way and just had to come over," he stated as an explanation. "Fancy meeting you here, though…"

"Won't you introduce me to your tall friend, Brielle?" Meg asked with a grin as she tilted her head back to study Erik's masked face.

Letting out the breath she had been holding, Brielle realized that her friend had not recognized Erik as the Phantom. Apparently the costume he had stolen was working. "Oh… Well this is Erik. A close… er… family friend to both Conner and I."

Raising a hand up to cover the laugh fighting to escape her, Meg shook her head. "Family friend? Goodness, Bri… sometimes the things you say are so funny."

Huffing at that, Brielle crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, well, I suppose he is as much a family friend as you and Conner are," she stated sarcastically.

Coloring at that, Meg turned her attention to Erik and candidly held out a hand to him, purposely ignoring Brielle's statement. "Hello, I do not think we have met before. I am Meg Giry…Tell me, are you the chap that kidnapped Brielle a couple of weeks ago?"

Staring at Meg as if she were some horrible alien creature, Erik stood rooted to the floor, his face wooden and pale behind his dark mask. Taking pity on the poor man, Brielle reached out and laid a soothing hand at the base of his back. "Meg is Madame Giry's daughter and is one of the best dancers in the company," Brielle stalled. "She kindly befriended me when I first came to the opera. Her heart is sweet and understanding in that way…"

Quickly glancing in Brielle's direction, Erik cleared his throat and reached out a hand to clasp Meg's. "An honor then, to meet one of Brielle's friends. You must be a highly extraordinary person to have gained such praise."

Charmed, Meg held onto his hand slightly longer than was necessary until finally Conner made an irritated sound deep in his throat. Releasing Erik, the blonde took a step back. "I do not know about extraordinary…but you are welcome to think so," she said happily. "Are you new to the company then? I don't think I have seen you at the practices."

"Speaking of the masque," Conner cut in quickly, changing the subject so unskillfully that everyone turned puzzled glances his way.

"No one said anything about the party Conner," Meg admonished. "I was asking Monsieur... er… Monsieur… Lord, I do not think I caught your last name."

"Now I know you are not seriously considering going with that half baked chorus boy who asked you to go."

Completely forgetting the loaded question she had asked Erik moments ago Meg squared off against Conner. "Oh? And who else would I go with?"

"Me of course."

"Pfft! Like I would!"

Rolling his eyes toward Brielle, Erik shot her a questioning look over Conner and Meg's odd behavior. Unable to explain their strangeness even to herself, Brielle could only shrug her shoulders. A gaggle of dancers swooped past then, giggling excitedly amongst themselves. The petite redhead at the back of the group pulled up short when she caught sight of Meg and Conner. Gracefully turning on her toe, Maryann, the new prima ballerina, swept over to them, a falsely sweet smile plastered across her freckled face.

Having overheard the latter part of Conner and Meg's exchange, Maryann rudely interjected herself into their conversation. "Why, Monsieur Sinclair, is this where you have been hiding? With second-rate dancers and former cleaning ladies? Do not waste your time on little Giry's favor… she wouldn't have any fun at the dance anyway seeing as there would be so many real dancers there," she bit out nastily, draping one lily-white hand over Conner's arm.

Ever since Meg had embarrassed Maryann at the party Conner had thrown, the small redhead had harbored a burning ill will against the blonde. But Brielle had never expected such open hostility from the prima ballerina. Turning wide, startled eyes back and forth between Meg and Maryann, the Irishwoman waited for the fur to fly.

Shrugging off Maryann's unwanted touch, Conner's face flushed angrily. "Move on, Maryann. I think I hear Satan calling you. He wants the soul you promised him for getting you this job."

Not made for the down and dirty bickering that Maryann was so schooled in Meg could only work her fists at her sides furiously, looking incredibly relieved when Conner quickly put the other woman in her place. Emboldened, Meg made a shooing motion with one hand. "Yes, and maybe he can teach you enough manners not to interrupt other people's conversations. Bye now."

Brielle flashed a mean toothy smile Maryann's way as the redhead sputtered with fury. Beside her Erik's stony expression and tall stature likewise served to urge the dancer on her way, though perhaps his efforts were unintentional. Seeing herself outnumbered, Maryann made a sour face and whirled away from them, making a rude gesture over her shoulder.

"Fine. I do not know why I wanted to bother with Irish trash anyway!" she called cattily as she shoved her way through a group of people and disappeared.

"That woman could use a good scare," Erik stated matter-of-factly, his voice dipping low and threatening.

Shaking her head in disapproval, Brielle put a staying hand on Erik's shoulder. Meg, so thrilled by her bravado, missed what Erik had offered and bounced happily in place. "Haha! That showed her! Conner, you have the most wicked tongue of any man I know!"

"Hmm, lass, you have no idea just how wicked," Conner said with a smug smirk.

Ignoring his obvious innuendo, Meg smiled at both Brielle and Erik. "And I bet she is going to be in a snit all day long too! That was so much fun. And you," she said, pointing at Erik. "You looked so mean that if I didn't think it an act I would have been quivering in my shoes right along with her! How perfect. What a lovely way to start off a performance!"

_An act… If only she knew._ Sensing that Erik was nearly at the end of his very limited social graces, Brielle thought to say good luck to both Conner and Meg and be on her way, but a sudden horrendous crash from the other side of a hanging backdrop startled her into silence. Before she had a moment to gasp aloud, Erik's arms were around her, pushing her protectively behind his body in a gesture that was becoming more and more familiar. Several stagehands jumped into action and went racing past them toward where the crash had come from.

"What the hell was that!" Meg piped up from over Conner's shoulder. Brielle hadn't noticed immediately, but apparently Conner had thrown Meg behind him just as Erik had done her.

"It sounded like someone shouting and then running into a set piece. I suppose they had the set fall on them," Erik offered, his sharp ears picking up more than what everyone else's did.

"Did you really hear all of that?" Meg asked, duly impressed.

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't," he replied a little bit too curtly.

"Well, I hope no one got hurt," Brielle said worriedly, easily smoothing over Erik's harsh tone. A pair of ballerinas came running toward them from the direction of the commotion, their eyes huge in their faces as they wailed at the top of their lungs.

"It is terrible! Maryann knocked over one of the pillars and broke her leg!"

Everyone in the vicinity grew deathly quiet at the announcement, too shocked by the bad news to say anything. Allowing the girls to pass by, Brielle felt a sinful smile flicker across her face. "Um… So about me saying I hoped no one was hurt… Never mind that."

"Oh, Brielle, you are so bad! She is a wicked woman but… but… this is terrible! The performance is only a few hours away… who will take her part. She wouldn't allow an understudy!"

Spotting the managers coming toward them at a hectic pace Erik automatically slunk backwards to get out of their direct line of sight. Watching Erik fade into the shadows nearby Brielle was actually surprised he had lasted out in the open as long as he had. _He doesn't even realize how far he has come. He worries and worries… but really he is not the same man he was a year ago. _

Andre was physically pulling at his curly gray hair, his face ashen as he grabbed hold of Firmin's sleeve. "We are cursed, Firmin! Cursed! You saw her… There is no way that stupid chit will be able to perform tonight! This cannot be happening…this cannot be happening."

"Lower your tone. Do not shout. Someone will just have to dance for her. We cannot allow this to interrupt the performance. There is too much riding on this!" Firmin said reasonably, though several hitches in his voice gave away his agitation.

Overhearing their conversation from where they stood a few feet away, Meg began to twist her hands nervously before her. Everyone in the room knew how much depended on this one night. Conner, his eyes skittering across the floorboards, slowly brought his eyes up to Meg's worried form with a bright smile. Turning on his heel without a word, he strode over to where the managers were having twin nervous breakdowns.

"Hello there, gentlemen," he began far too happily.

Waving a hand in Conner's direction, Firmin tried to fend him off. "Not right now, Monsieur Sinclair, we are very, very busy. Maryann has decided to ruin our lives today by breaking her damned leg in a fit of stupidity."

"Oh, yes, I know. That is what I wanted to talk to you about. You see I know who would be perfect to fill in for Maryann tonight."

"Really?" Andre demanded hopefully before being shoved aside by Firmin.

"No thank you, Monsieur. I am sure the two or three young ladies you are courting are very nice, but we really need to focus right now."

Looking slightly irritated by Firmin's assumption, Conner scowled. "No, you misunderstand. The girl I am speaking of has practiced her part along with Maryann's for four hours of extra practice every day. She stays late after everyone else leaves and knows every step of every position upon the stage. She moves as if God himself is guiding her limbs."

Turning to Brielle, Meg let out a relieved breath. "Oh, that is good that he knows someone. Who do you think it is?" Shrugging, Brielle did not voice the suspicion growing within her mind, though secretly she hoped she was right in her assumption.

Stabbing Firmin excitedly in one shoulder, Andre's color began to return to him. "Who is it then! She sounds perfect! Knowing Maryann's part and all… Tell us her name!"

Clasping his hands calmly behind his back, Conner's smile returned full force. "Why… Meg Giry of course. Meg could do it with her eyes closed."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sitting slouched low in an overpriced leather chair, Andrew stared desolately out his office window, one hand clutching a Scotch bottle close to his chest. He didn't move, hardly blinked, simply watched the day wane away and the people hurrying about their lives outside his window. Dressed in white tie and tails he looked ready to step outside and attend any one of the parties being thrown that night, but the flat darkness of his eyes betrayed his dapper appearance. He was not thinking about merrymaking. He was thinking of murder.

"Sir?" Monsieur Beaumont's pleasant voice inquired from the corner. "Is it wise for you to continue drinking? The opera is only hours away and I am sure you wish to be in full control of your capacities by that time."

Turning his head slowly, Andrew stared at his newest employee with hooded irritation. "It may ease your mind to know that it would take more than a measly quarter of a bottle to make me intoxicated. If we had to leave this very moment I would be in full control of myself. Worry about your end of our arrangement."

Tipping his head in acknowledgement, the Frenchman smiled blandly, his eyes remaining cold and watchful despite the easy expression. "I never worry, my lord, but your point is taken. I will mind my own business."

Sitting up a little straighter, Andrew set his bottle aside, quickly scanning the room around him, a hint of fear tightening his mouth. Seeing nothing, or no one, out of place, he relaxed. "Have you taken the necessary preliminary measures?"

"Yes, I have been to the opera. I have the basic layout memorized. And after speaking to several very helpful people I discovered that your fiancée has been calling herself Madame Donner and is now working for the lead soprano. I know what room she in staying in and what she and her daughter look like. The plan should come off without a hitch. She will stay close to her employer through the performance most likely, but I was unable to find out where she would be afterwards."

Waving a dismissive hand in the air, Andrew leaned his elbows again his desk. "I have a man on the inside who should be able to help with that. I actually sent him a note earlier today asking him that very question. But I have taken several precautions so that I am sure as to her whereabouts after the performance. She will go precisely where I wish her to go."

"Then there shouldn't be a problem."

"No, no problem. Everything is working out perfectly," Andrew stated flatly, his face holding none of its usual smug triumph. "In a few hours Brielle will be back where she belongs and that blasted man will be dead." Turning to gaze out the window once more Andrew fell back into brooding silence. _See, John, you do not frighten me. You are dead and I am still alive… you cannot touch me. And soon I will take everything you used to have… Who is the best now?_

"Who is the best now?"


	64. Opening NIght II

**Hey everyone! Happy Fourth of July to all of my American readers. (Ok so the fourth was like a couple days ago but still. ) Thanks to all of you who reviewed last chapter. I love, love, love hearing from you all. And you always manage to make good suggestions and to give me a good laugh. Oh, and I noticed that there were several new readers. So Welcome to the story.**

**Once again a huge thanks to Terpsichore! She managed to get this chapter done even though she was very busy. (It being a holiday and all.) Yay for Terpsichore! She is officially a super editor!**

**Oh and explodingBrain-musik did a fan art of Brielle for me! (Claps hands) When I read the email I was just tickled pink! Yay! But if you all want to check it out here is the link… hopefully it will work. **

http // img . photobucket. com /albums /v32 /SockPoppet /briellecolor- 1. jpg

Chapter 64: Opening Night II

Clasping his hands calmly behind his back, Conner's smile returned full force. "Why… Meg Giry, of course. Meg could do it with her eyes closed."

The relieved expression on Meg's face fell flat, morphing instantly into astonished disbelief. Blinking stupidly at Conner, with her mouth hanging open in shock, the dancer shook her head slowly. "What did you just say? I think I heard you wrong."

Nodding in agreement, Firmin reached up and rubbed at one ear. "Yes, I am not sure that I heard you either." Gaping openly in Meg's direction, Andre could only work his mouth silently, despair once again draining his face to a sickly pallor as he waited with everyone else to hear Conner's reply.

Without missing a beat, Conner walked to Meg's side and flung an arm about her shoulders. "Meg could do it," he repeated, seemingly oblivious to the effects of his stunning statement. "And I daresay she would do a better job of it than that redheaded idiot ever could. I mean really… whoever heard of a dancer who is clumsy enough to break her own leg?"

When Firmin simply continued to stare at Conner blankly Brielle hurriedly stepped forward. "Absolutely, Meg could do it. I have seen her practicing late almost every night. She has a natural talent to be sure but because she isn't as demanding and arrogant as people like Maryann you haven't noticed yet. Just think… having a headliner who is not a pain in your ass. Wouldn't that be a nice change?"

Firmin closed his mouth with a click, finally appearing as if he were considering Conner's suggestion. His expression calmed somewhat as he pursed his lips in thought. Andre, far from being placated, was working himself up into a distressed lather. Raising both hands up to pull at his hair, Andre finally found his voice. Turning to his partner, he let out a hysterical laugh. "We are ruined, Firmin! This is a disaster! That stupid girl has just gone and ruined us all!"

Waving a quieting hand in Andre's face, Firmin's dark eyes turned to where Meg stood in shock next to Conner. Frowning at Meg for a moment, he then addressed Conner. "You said she knows the part?"

Smoothing a casual hand down Meg's bare arm, Conner grinned, looking very much the imp as he waited for the managers to see his logic. "Absolutely," he stated easily, noting the sudden stiffening of the woman under his arm. Evidently having them talk over her head was not sitting well with her, which is exactly what Conner had hoped would happen. He knew the only thing strong enough to overcome her naturally quiet personality was anger.

"You cannot even be considering this, Firmin! Meg has never had a major part! She is untried. What if she freezes upon the stage! Just look at what happened last time we put an unknown upon the stage!" Andre practically shrieked at the top of his lungs.

Ignoring Andre, Firmin slowly began to nod his head. "And you are sure she knows the part?" he asked Conner.

Opening his mouth to reply, Conner was interrupted when Meg hurriedly cut him off. "Excuse me. I am standing right here. You are all talking as if I cannot hear you!" she blurted out, drawing everyone's attention quickly to her as she took a combative step forward. A secret smile stole across Conner's features as he winked at Firmin.

Not liking his own rudeness being pointed out to him, Firmin let out an irritated growl. Turning his address toward Meg, Firmin fixed her with his dark gaze. "Fine… Then tell me yourself. Are you sure you know Maryann's part?"

Caught in the center of attention Meg's bravado deflated slightly. Looking less sure of herself now, Meg moved just a little bit closer to Conner's side, seeking the comfort of his embrace as her heart pounded frantically within her chest. "Yes," she murmured quietly, then clearing her throat she restated her affirmation in a louder tone.

"Yes, I know her part." With a quick look up at Conner's face she took a steadying breath; buoyed by his encouraging smile, she barreled on. "And I know every other part too!" she added for good measure, the spark of her ambition finally beginning to burn brighter within her tawny eyes, dispelling the shadows of her doubt as she met Firmin stare for stare.

Pale-faced, Andre looked to Firmin as the taller man thought over Meg's words. Seeing the growing intensity within the blonde's expression, Firmin lost a little of his incredulity. Anyone who looked as Meg did now, he knew, could do anything they set their minds to. "All right, you have the part tonight." When Meg let out an excited gasp and clasped her hands in front of her chest, Firmin shot her a quelling glare. "But do not expect this to be permanent. This is a trial run because we have no other choice."

Not listening to a word the manager was saying, Meg turned with a happy squeal and leapt into Conner's arms, wrapping the redhead in a vise-like hug, and not caring for the moment how forward her actions were. "I cannot believe this is happening! I get to dance for everyone! I have worked so hard but now I finally get to do what I have been wanting all along!"

Rolling his eyes at the scene before him, Firmin scrubbed a hand down his face. "Just be ready by curtain call!" he snapped, as he turned on his heel and stalked off, Andre following quickly upon his heels.

The wicked I-am-causing-trouble smirk on playing across Conner's face slowly faded away as he brought his arms up to return Meg's heartfelt embrace. Closing his eyes, he turned his cheek into her bright hair, something deep and tender pulling his features into serious lines. He had purposely kept his demeanor light up until this moment, thinking to put the managers at ease, but now, in the face of Meg's unfettered delight, he couldn't keep the smile on his face. He wanted this woman, more than he had wanted anything in his life, and he couldn't make a joke of that.

Pulling back to look up at Conner's face, her smile bright enough to light the room, Meg wrapped one hand unconsciously in the lapel of his jacket. "Conner, you are a rat for surprising me like that! But… but thank you. No one has ever done anything like that for me before…" Looking surprised at her own statement, Meg lowered her gaze to his chest, a new sort of shock stealing over her features as her grip tightened on his clothing. "I… I…"

Fearing he would do something rash and completely inappropriate if he didn't put a little distance between them, Conner cleared his throat and carefully stepped back. "You are welcome, lass," he murmured gruffly.

Having hung back after the managers left, Brielle now stepped forward, her pale eyes flickering back and forth between Conner and Meg with a great amount of interest. "Meg, this is such wonderful news. Didn't I say that you were wonderful and that everyone would know it someday!"

As if hearing her friend from a far-off place, Meg nodded her head absently, too busy now sneaking peeks up at the man before her to notice much of anything, a new discovery shining in her face as she reluctantly dropped her hands from Conner's clothing. Trying to gather her wits, Meg finally looked at Brielle with a distracted smile. "Yes, you did say that, but I really never believed you."

A slow knowing smile began to pull at Brielle's mouth as she watched her friend struggle to find her words. "I hate to break the two of you apart right now, but shouldn't you be getting to the costume department? Being the lead means you need to change your costume and I assume fitting Maryann's dress to you may take a bit of time…"

Coming out of her dreamlike state, Meg raised both hands up to her mouth in a gasp, her soft eyes widening in panic. "Damn it! You are right! I have a million things to do and I only have a little while to do it! GOD!" Turning on her heel, she raced off with hardly a backward glance, fully caught up in the pre-performance panic brought on by Brielle's statement.

Shooting Brielle a dirty look, Conner raised a hand to rub over his eyes, his freckles standing out darkly in his flushed face. "Bri, you know I love you, but Lord if your big mouth doesn't annoy the fire right out of me!" he declared.

Raising her chin defiantly, Brielle raised one kohl-darkened eyebrow in his direction. "I felt it was my duty to interrupt the both of you. By the look on your face I feared that you were going to grab her by the hair and drag her off to your cave. And that would have ruined all of your grand plans."

Knowing his sister was right, but hating to admit it, Conner merely scowled. "Where did Erik run off to? As soon as the managers ran up he sort of disappeared."

Looking around her, Brielle frowned at her brother. "Well, that is a stupid question if I ever did hear one. You know very well why he would want to disappear with all of the noise and excitement. I am actually surprised he came out at all," she finished happily.

"Hm, what was it that had him out in the first place?"

"Oh, he saw Mr. Turner grab my arm so he charged out to knock the idiotic man off his feet. Actually, now that I think about it I am sort of glad he didn't break the man's face."

Interested now, Conner stuffed his hands into his pockets. "What was James Turner doing grabbing hold of you?"

Her face flushing at the memory, Brielle looked at the ground. "God if I know. He asked me where I would be tonight. I think he was trying to ask me to the dance, though he was going by it in a very odd way."

More cheerful now that he could see Brielle's embarrassment, Conner flashed a grin. "Well I suppose he will know better next time."

Pursing her lips in irritation, Brielle folded her arms in front of her chest. "Perish the thought. I would hate to have Erik kill him."

Laughing at the half truth in her annoyed statement, Conner reached out and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, sweeping off toward his dressing room where he had left Aria taking her afternoon nap. "Well, if you are not going to run off after Erik and leave me all on my own, I think it is high time you come along with me and begin wishing me luck. No one has yet to worship me today and I decree that you will fit the bill."

"Maybe I should ask Erik to knock you down a peg or two as well," Brielle muttered under her breath while flashing a sickeningly sweet smile up at him. "No need for me to run after him. He is still watching us after all. And shame on you for saying you are alone. Did I not leave Aria with you to keep you company out of the goodness of my heart?"

Snorting, Conner slowly swept their surrounding area with an incredulous air. "How can you tell? That he is still around that is?"

Likewise raising her eyes, a subtle smile softening her expression, Brielle leaned against her brother's arm. "He is always watching here. Always…"

More out of instinct than anything else her gaze traveled along the far wall, coming to rest upon a shadowed corner in the back of the room. Something deep and elemental shifted behind her eyes, tempering them to the color of tarnished silver as she stared fixedly into the darkness beyond the reach of the gas lights. Following her gaze, Conner could pick out nothing special about that spot. Feeling as if he were missing something, he merely smiled and patted her hand, moving off through the crowd with the shivering sensation of being watched slithering up his spine.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Leaning against an out-of-the-way corner Erik peered around the edge, his eyes sharp and focused on one single person within the crowd. People passed in and out of his line of sight, momentarily blocking her from his view, but his eyes never blinked, never wavered, staying singly fixed upon her with a burning intensity it would put the sun to shame. She turned then, as if feeling the touch of his gaze, her eyes coming around to knowingly collide with his. As always a shock of awed disbelief swept through him as her full mouth slowly tilted up into a smile. Smiling at him.

Letting out a deep sigh, he leaned his forehead against the wall, the tension seemingly melting away under the warmth of her gaze. When had it become so easy for this woman to soothe him with just one look? Even the seething fury at James Turner for having dared to touch her slowly began to dissolve, and the suffocating panic he had felt when faced with conversing with Meg Giry likewise faded into a memory.

Smiling at the thought, Erik paid no mind to a group of ballerinas that fluttered past him, sure that none would recognize him even if they did happen to notice him. When one figure broke away from the group and stood immobile just at the corner of his vision, he finally tore his eyes away from Brielle to glance toward that still person. Recognizing the black clad woman with a silent curse, Erik turned his face away from her, thinking that if he just moved away slowly she might not take notice of him.

He had no such luck. As he hunched his shoulders and stepped backward, Madame Giry turned her head toward him, her razor sharp gaze quick to land upon his looming form. She frowned for a moment, studying him with the same intense concentration she used to study her students, then her mouth fell open on a wave of startled recognition. Freezing in mid-step, Erik bit out several curses, not knowing what to do now that he had been caught.

The dance mistress, shaking off her initial shock, hurriedly raced up to him, a slightly strained expression tightening the skin about her vivid eyes. She stopped just short of where he stood, her hand shooting out as if to grab his arm, but she pulled back before actually touching him. "I did not think I would ever see you again!"

Quickly flashing a worried look over the top of her head, he took hold of her hand and dragged her back into a side hallway, safely away from prying eyes. "I did not intend for you to see me now," he finally snapped, his irritation at being caught making his voice harsher than he had intended. _This is a disaster! I am an idiot! Where did all of my discipline go? A year ago I would never have been caught off guard. I was so busy watching Brielle that I hardly noticed anything else. And she is counting on me… what with her dreams lately. It has me worried. Damn! Damn! Damn!_

Her face pinched into stern lines at his tone. Throwing back her dainty shoulders, she squared off against him, taking on the exact stance she used on her most troublesome students. "Do not snap at me!" she exclaimed, shaking an admonishing finger under his nose.

Startled by her bravado, Erik dropped her hand and jerked back a step. It had been so long since the last time they had spoken, and he had forgotten how forceful she could be. He had forgotten how childish she could make him feel, and strangely enough he found he had missed her no-nonsense manner. Fighting the amusement he felt bubbling up within him, Erik deepened his scowl. He didn't have time to reconnect with an old… sort of friend. Deciding he needed to be free from Giry as quickly as possible, Erik raked one gloved hand through his hair, searching for a plan of action.

"I have wanted to speak to you for some time and I think now is the perfect time, now that I have you in front of me," Madame Giry fired at him.

"I do not think so. I do not have the time," he stated dismissively.

Sniffing at that, she merely crossed her arms across her chest. "You will speak with me now!"

Opening his mouth to snap back at her, Erik quickly shut it again, reining in his temper. Feeling his face heat furiously behind his mask, he fisted his hands at his sides. "Fine! Speak!" he ground out between clenched teeth.

Having stiffened in preparation for the usual temperamental explosion, Madame Giry blinked at his controlled reaction. Her brows coming down in careful consideration she was a little slow to respond. "I do not like what I have been seeing around the Opera. I know you have been focusing a great deal of attention on Madame Donner. She is a nice girl who does not need…"

Her words struck him as brutally as white hot pokers shoved through his gut, finally snapping the tenuous control he had on his temper. Baring his teeth in a sign of true fury, Erik turned to slam a fist into the wall next to him. Hearing Brielle's disapproving voice in his head 'tsk, tsking' his actions, he froze in mid action, settling his fists stiffly at his sides. "What? Does not need a man like me lurking in her shadow? Is that what you are saying?"

Looking distinctly puzzled now, Madame Giry shook her head. "I did not say that, Erik. You know I would never suggest such a thing," she said with a certain air of affronted hurt. Softening her strict stance slightly, she looked him straight in the eye. "If I shared such a view I would never have risked helping a small boy hide here all those years ago."

Relaxing slowly, Erik sighed. "Your concern does you justice. Considering everything… what else is to be expected?" Allowing the shadow of a smile to soften his fierce expression, he raised one hand in a placating motion. "You do not have to worry about Madame Donner. I have no ill-conceived designs upon her. I would cut off my own hands before harming her."

A weighted silence stretched out between them then, thrumming with years of words unspoken and misunderstandings. "You have changed," Madame Giry finally breathed. "Truly you are not the same man that I once knew."

Caught off guard by the gentleness in her tone, Erik cleared his throat uncomfortably and edged further away from her, wondering at her strange statement. "I am mostly the same I think…"

"No, something has altered you greatly. Twice now you have been on the edge of losing your temper but twice you have pulled yourself back from falling into a rage. Once you would not have exercised such control. Once you could not have found such control."

Staring at the older woman, Erik mulled over the truth in her words with a satisfied smile. _She is right, of course, but it is not, was not, a 'thing' that changed me… it was a 'who.' _Thinking of Brielle only made him wonder where she was at that moment, and what trouble she surely had gotten herself into since he last saw her. "Well it has been a year…" he dodged.

Narrowing her eyes at his vague reply, Madame Giry frowned up at him. "There is something you are not saying. What is it? I demand to know what it is."

Knowing perfectly well that she would hound him until he told her something, Erik caved in. "After the fire last year I was taken in by a woman and her family. She was a terrifying sort of female, so as a matter of survival I learned to be a little more diplomatic in my dealings with other people."

"It was Madame Donner, wasn't it?" the dance mistress instantly burst out, a glittering happiness Erik had never seen in her before shining in her eyes. "You already knew her when she came here. That is why you gave Aria that music box…and why you have been giving them special attention." Clapping her hands, a disturbing wet sheen filled her eyes. She waited a beat and then continued. "I am so glad for you. All these years my heart has ached for what your life had become… that I could not do more for you. To hear that someone finally treated you kindly…" Breaking off, she reached up to wipe at her face where two tears had tracked down her cheeks.

Grimacing at the sight of her tears, Erik felt his gut clench in response; he hated seeing a woman cry. Desperate to get her to stop her weeping, he reached out and awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Do not do that. Get a hold of yourself."

Sniffing slightly, Madame Giry looked down at the hand on her shoulder only to have more tears leak from her eyes. Then suddenly her expression lightened and she clasped her hands over her mouth. The tears disappeared and a sly gleam sharpened her gaze. "I should have known… she is a very singular individual. I knew it the moment I saw her come into the theater… I knew I had to get her to stay. She befriended my daughter and puts up with Carlotta… I should have known she could navigate your dreadful personality. You know… Brielle is a very pretty young lady."

Blinking at Madame Giry blankly for a moment; Erik's mouth dropped open when he finally realized the line of her thoughts. "No!...Er… rather, yes she is, but…" Letting out a frustrated growl he clamped his mouth shut. "I do not have time for this. You do not understand… There may be trouble underfoot."

Sobering quickly, Madame Giry's brow wrinkled in concern. "What? What trouble?"

"Our new patron is not who he seems to be. He used to be Brie… er… Madame Donner's fiancée. She fled from him in fear of her life. I wait every day for him to come looking for her here… it is just a matter of time. I was…um… watching over her when you noticed me."

Raising a hand to worry over his jaw, he looked over Madame Giry's head, his mind once again wondering where Brielle might be. "I am… glad to speak with you again, madame… but I must go." Turning sharply on his heel, he began to stalk off down the hall. Pausing, he looked back at her. "If you should see Lord Donovan… please, will you warn her?" he asked slowly, unused to asking for help from anyone.

Pursing her lips into a tight line, the dance mistress nodded. "You do not even have to ask, Erik. You know I will always help you. We do not like trouble here… and if there is a danger from outside to one of our own it will not be tolerated," she said vehemently. "But go now… go, go. I see I have kept you too long. And I have found out everything I wanted to anyway."

Inclining his head slightly in farewell Erik turned and swept off down the hallway, his black cape billowing out behind him as he went. A dark leer tightened the angles of his face as his winter blue eyes scanned ahead. Buoyed by Madame Giry's pledge, his mind raced with plans of defense. It was impossible to know where or when Lord Donovan would strike, but at least now he had a sense of control. And at that moment he dared Andrew to come, for he longed to break every bone in the man's body.

"Danger from the outside will not be tolerated, indeed," he murmured aloud on a dark chuckle.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Standing safely out of the way in one of the wings, Brielle watched the Opera Populaire prepare to raise its curtain for the first time in over a year. Beside her, plopped unceremoniously upon the floor, Aria beamed at the stage, her pale rain-colored eyes reflecting the glow of the gas lights. A finicky round of applause rolled out of the darkened theater as the performers took their places, and everyone backstage crossed themselves for good luck. It seemed that the patrons tonight would not easily be entertained.

Worrying her bottom lip with both apprehension and excitement, Brielle clasped her hands to her chest and waited for the orchestra to strike their first note. Over the buzz of the still conversing crowd, Conner's violin suddenly wailed to life, the first few notes echoing mournfully throughout the theater, silencing the audience with an almost brutal effectiveness. The rest of the musicians soon followed suit, blending together in a mathematical precision that hinted at the endless hours of practice the men had endured. Clapping her hands excitedly, Aria bounced her bottom upon the floor as the stagehands pulled up the curtain a few feet away from them.

With her heart pounding like a frightened bird in her chest, Brielle could hardly bear the tension as she watched Mephistopheles, played by the resident bass, cause a stir outside of the inn in the opening act. The entire scene played out to perfection, slowly garnering more and more appreciation from the reluctant audience as each song went by.

Knowing the ins and outs behind every effect and set did nothing to retract from the play; in a way it enhanced it because she knew exactly just how hard everyone had worked for this night. Standing utterly still, Brielle felt herself pulled into the storyline, her mind and its worries soothed by the fantasy and the music that Gounod had created decades ago. The only thing that could have made the moment any better was if Erik had been standing beside her.

Carlotta pranced through her parts with all her normal overblown dramatics, but amazingly enough her voice was able to convey the youth and exuberance of Marguerite, the main female part, even if her acting did not. When her feet grew tired of standing, Brielle settled herself upon the floor next to Aria, bringing the child into her lap as they both sat with eyes fixed upon the stage. _This is fun… I never thought it would be this much fun. I have always thought of it as work up until now. Lord, I almost wish I could sing to be able to do what they are doing… almost._ Thinking on how terrifying performing in front of a crowd would be, Brielle wrinkled her nose.

A slow, cool prickling of the flesh at the base of her neck had Brielle turning her eyes from the stage just as the fourth act began. She knew someone was watching her, but as she scanned the others in the nearby area she could see no one looking at her. Shrugging off the sensation, Brielle turned back to the stage. _It is probably just Erik again. I have felt his eyes upon me throughout the entire evening,_ she reasoned, though deep down she knew it had not been him. Erik's gaze was always like the summer sun upon her skin, heating, and comforting.

Not allowing herself to become so fully engrossed in the play again, Brielle watched with one ear always craned to her surroundings. Even when Meg took the stage in her big solo, Brielle was distantly conscious of the movements of every person nearby. Meg left the stage to thunderous applause, passing by Brielle with a giant grin upon her face. She paused momentarily at Brielle's side and bent to wrap her in an ecstatic hug before rushing off to prepare for the next scene.

When the curtain finally dropped for the last time Brielle climbed to her feet and swung Aria up onto her hip, the roar of the audience echoing through the backstage all around her. Making her way towards Carlotta's dressing room, knowing that the diva would expect a compliment or two, Brielle listened to Aria's excited chatter with a smile. Faust had been a success, and it was sure to bring the Opera House back to the forefront of Parisian culture. Perhaps, things would work out after all. Maybe her dreams had been nightmares after all.

Practically skipping the rest of the way, Brielle was surprised to find Carlotta already getting undressed within her dressing room. Looking up at her arrival, with her face flushed in excitement, Carlotta flashed her a toothy grin. "Dey love me! Did you hear dem clapping?" Not waiting for an answer, the diva threw her costume upon the couch and stepped into the dress she had bought for the masque.

Putting Aria down, Brielle helped her employer do up the buttons of her dress and to arrange the mask upon her face. "You did do wonderfully."

"Yes, I did," Carlotta heartily agreed, her dark eyes sparkling like a schoolgirl's from behind her gold, dragon-inspired mask. "And I look good! De dragon is nice, yes? Everyone else will be someting boring. Come as de most wild and exotic animals… it is fun!"

Dazzled by the rich, glittering silk of Carlotta's dress, Aria stood wide-eyed in the middle of the floor, her thumb firmly stuck into her mouth. "M-Momma, can I g-go to the p-party?" she finally asked, holding the hem of her dress out in the same grand manner she had just seen Carlotta execute.

"I am sorry, Love, but only adults get to go to the dance tonight."

"Are you g-going to go with Erik?" Aria wheedled with a slight pout upon her face, her question drawing Carlotta's attention.

"Erik? I tink you should go. 'E is de man we were talking about, yes?"

"Y-Yes!" Aria quickly agreed.

Feeling slightly ganged up upon, Brielle shook her head sternly. "No, absolutely not. I am sure it would be entertaining, but I have nothing to wear and I know for a fact that Erik would not wish to go," she said, hoping that was the end of the conversation.

Pouting her lips just as Aria was, Carlotta fisted her hands upon her hips. "Ah! 'E is shy, den? Well, I will tell 'im to go wit you!"

Laughing slightly at that, Brielle continued to shake her head. "No, I am going to put Aria to bed and then go to sleep myself." Before Carlotta could protest further, Brielle ushered Aria toward the door. "Have fun tonight, Carlotta! I will see you in the morning!" Hurrying out the door, Brielle cut off anything else the diva may have wanted to say.

Swinging their clasped hands between them, Brielle walked the short distance to her own room. Finding the door already open she went inside. Seeing a large white box sitting upon her small table she paused in the doorway. Seeing nothing else out of the ordinary she went to the table, confusion wrinkling her brow as she picked up the piece of paper sitting on top of it. Typed on the outside of the paper was the address of a local dressmaker. Even more curious now she opened the letter and quickly read it.

_Madame, would you do me the honor of attending the ball with me tonight?_ It read simply in the same type as the outside of the letter.

Flipping the paper over curiously, Brielle looked to her daughter with a frown. "What in the world?"

"O-Open it! Open it!" Aria shouted, dancing about the table in excitement.

Reaching out, Brielle lifted the lid off the box. "All right… all right, settle down and I…"

Stopping in mid-sentence Brielle found herself staring down at the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. Made of soft white satin, the bodice shimmered enticingly, the pure color at odds with the fashionably low neckline. Lace so fine it appeared to be made of spun silver coiled into seductive patterns from bust to hips, accentuating the curves of the small waist. It was a dress seemingly made for Winter herself, pure and tempting but remotely beautiful all the same.

Gasping out loud, Brielle lifted it from the box and shook the full skirts out, the fabric whispering in the quiet of the room. Not quite believing what was before her eyes, she checked the note again, utterly flabbergasted. Then slowly a smile pulled her mouth open into a laugh. _That sneak! Erik must have sent this. Had he planned this all along or did he somehow sense that I would love to go to this party? Lord, I would never have asked to go because I know how he hates being out in the open…but…_Grinning from ear to ear, a wave of pure delight washed through her body. There was something secret and exciting about thinking of dancing with Erik in a crowd. It was just so alluring, so dangerous that she could not help but feel her heart skitter within her chest and a flush burn up her cheeks.

"Are you g-going to the p-party now?" Aria asked with an I-told-you-so smile.

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth Brielle weighed her choices. Now she really had no excuse not to go, she had something splendid to wear, had a man to meet her there. _If it were not for my stupid dreams…though really I have no idea when the dreams are warning me of. It could be tomorrow… or next week. I have no reason to suspect that anything will happen tonight. And really because there are so many people here what could happen?_ Letting out a throaty breath, Brielle laid the gown on the table and began unbuttoning her own dress, deciding to go, for a little while anyway. In her undergarments she stepped into the billowing satin, pulling the dress up and threading her arms through the sleeves.

A light knock sounded upon her door just as she began struggling to do up the buttons running up her back. Marie's wizened face appeared before Brielle could even invite her in. "I thought you would be here… but I see you are going to go and waste your time at that idiotic party as well. I had hoped you would not be so foolish. God almighty, there is nowhere in this place that can escape the racket of the blasted band they hired."

Not allowing the old woman's dreary outlook to dampen her own happiness, Brielle smiled brightly at the ancient cleaning woman. "Will you help me with the buttons? If you do you can stay in here with Aria. This room is the furthest from the front and is very quiet."

Rolling her eyes, Marie stepped further into the room. "Fine, but I am only doing this because I like you." Grabbing Brielle by the shoulders, she spun the Irishwoman around and went to work upon the buttons. "Really, you should be doing something more useful with your time… like practicing those cards that I gave you."

"Yes, I am sure," Brielle agreed easily. When the last button was done she whirled around and planted a kiss upon the old woman's cheek. "I have to go. I won't stay long… maybe an hour."

Dazed by the blatant show of affection, Marie waved her off. "Well, at least do not forget your mask," Marie reminded her as she plucked a delicate feathered half mask out of the box. "It appears you are going as a dove…hmm… it suits you. Except for the dark hair. If you had a pale wig it would be perfect."

Blinking at the irony in that suggestion, Brielle couldn't suppress a laugh. Running behind a changing screen she pulled her black wig from her head and hid it in her boudoir. Uncoiling the long white braids she wore underneath she hurriedly brushed out her hair and came out from behind the screen. "Would this one work? Funny that I had one just lying around."

Staring at her oddly for several moments, Marie nodded. "But you must let me do it up right for you," she commanded, grabbing a jar of hairpins from the dresser top.

Half an hour later Brielle stepped from her room, a vision all in white. Gazing out from behind the safety of her mask, she took off toward the grand entrance where she knew the party was already underway and where she knew Erik must be waiting for her. She heard the sounds of revelry long before she met up with anyone else. When she did begin to pass other partygoers, she found herself stopping to stare at the wondrous costumes of birds, reptiles, and even fish that the others were wearing. Busy studying everything around her, she missed the stir she herself was causing. Men of all shapes and sizes stopped whatever they were doing as she passed them, frozen in mid action, their eyes following her with acute interest, wondering who the lady in white could be.

_I wonder who is who…_ Spotting a woman strut by, peacock feathers fluttering in the breeze, Brielle began laughing out loud, thinking of a dozen snotty ballerinas who could be behind the purple mask. _Oh this is too much fun!_ Moving into the main party area, Brielle craned her neck, attempting to see over the gathered crowd, looking for the familiar broad shoulders and elegant figure of a very particular masked man. Unable to see anyone she knew, Brielle skirted along the edge of the room, coming out breathlessly near the refreshment table. Accepting a cup of punch she watched the crowd, worrying how she would ever find Erik in the sea of people cavorting out upon the marble floor and staircases.

A redheaded gentleman, wearing a fox-inspired mask, burst out of the crowd then, dragging with him a petite blonde wearing a set of delicate set of antlers and the mask of a deer. Turning to look furiously behind, the man shook his fist and shouted. "Next time you try dancing with a lady without her permission you will be losing some of your teeth! God, Meg, when I told the managers about your dancing I had no idea so many drunken louts would try to paw at you!"

The young lady laughed at that and rose up on her toes to plant a kiss upon his cheek. "But I have you to protect my honor, sir. So it should not be a problem!" Meg teased. Something in her manner and posture distinctly altered from before the opera, gone was the wariness, the caution. She looked at him the same way Brielle had seen herself looking at Erik.

"Conner? Meg?" Brielle asked uncertainly as the pair came up next to her.

Startled, Conner turned his head toward her. His green eyes narrowing behind his mask, he studied her for a moment. "Who are…" Then suddenly recognition flickered across his expression. "God, Bri! I didn't know you were coming! Where the hell did you get that dress? You look like something heaven would spit out."

"I wasn't going to come but when I got back to my room I found this with a note from Erik to meet him here."

Clasping her hands together in delight, Meg sighed. "Oh, that is sooo romantic!"

"Yes, but I have not found him yet and I have been looking for at least twenty minutes."

"Hmm, well, if we see him we will let you know," Conner offered cheerfully, already tugging on Meg's arm to return to the dance floor, his eyes hungrily fixated upon her smiling face.

Slapping at Conner's hands, Meg turned to Brielle. "Do you want us to stay with you until you find him?"

"No, that is all right. Go and have fun!" she said with a wave, watching them both disappear back into the crowd. Setting her now empty cup onto a nearby table, Brielle continuously scanned the room, becoming just a little impatient to find Erik.

Tapping her feet to the beat of the waltz that was playing, Brielle heard a slight murmur spread through the people in front of her. Following the gazes of several nearby partygoers, she spotted a handsomely dressed gentleman appear at the top of the grand staircase. There was nothing remarkable about his clothing, being merely a regular set of dress clothes, but the way that he held himself, so predatorily still, hinted at the strength of the man behind the simple eagle-inspired mask. The man stood immobile for several moments, his eyes sweeping carefully across the people below as his mouth turned down at the corners in concentration.

Even before he moved to gracefully descend the first step, Brielle knew whose face lay behind the fierce beaked mask. Her heart leapt into her throat as she darted forward into the crowd, making a beeline for the base of the stairs. She reached the bottom step when Erik was halfway down the staircase. His eyes locked upon her instantly, burning bright and blue through the eye holes of his mask, and he hurried the rest of the way down the stairwell. Coming to a stop one step above her, he towered over her, looking mouthwateringly regal and just a little dangerous.

His gaze raked over her form, drinking her in as if his life depended upon it. "I look away from you one moment and then I cannot find you again for the next hour. Have you been out here all this time?" he asked, his tone slightly edgy as he moved to avoid contact with several women passing by him.

"Yes, I was looking for you."

His lips pressed together slightly, the only indication of his confusion visible from behind the mask. "Why did you think I would be her…" Interrupted by several partygoers that were passing by, he did not get to finish his question.

When he opened his mouth to ask again, Brielle reached out and took his hand in hers. "You seem to always be reading my mind. I did not want to tell you how much I wanted to come here tonight because I did not want to make you feel as if you should come… but here you are anyway!" she gushed, slowly drawing him down from his step to her level.

"Wherever you go, Bri, you know I will always follow," he muttered roughly, using the shortened version of her name. She had never heard a sweeter endearment than the way this man simply used her name. Leaning forward, he bent his head to press his lips intimately against her ear. "You look breathtaking. When I first saw you at the bottom of the stairs I was sure I was granted a momentary glimpse of heaven. But even with that mask on I knew it was you as surely as I know myself. And blast it, if that white dress doesn't just make me want to rip it off of you."

Flushing with delight as his warm breath bathed the sensitive skin along her neck Brielle sighed deeply, her bones practically melting with his every word. "Keep talking like that and I am afraid I will be merely a puddle at your feet."

Smiling wickedly he pulled back, the worry seemingly disappearing from his gaze as he planted chaste kiss upon her forehead. "Maybe that is precisely what I want. Bri, what do you think about leaving all this noise and finding a nice quiet spot somewhere. A nice quiet, dark, secluded spot…" he asked, his voice practically purring out the last words.

Feeling the magical pull of his voice, Brielle barely found the strength to shake her head. "That would be lovely, but first I want to share one dance with you… out here in front of everyone. I got all dressed up for you and I want to enjoy this fantastic dress just a little bit longer."

Pouting, actually pouting, Erik let out a deeply bereaved sigh. "One dance… I will suffer through one dance."

"That is all I ask," Brielle said on a laugh, pulling the former Phantom of the Opera out onto the dance floor to join the hundred other couples already in motion.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Watching Aria playing happily upon the floor with an odd music box, Marie felt her eyes begin to grow heavy with fatigue. She knew she would soon begin to doze off if she didn't have something to occupy her mind with. _I really should stay awake so long as the child is. It just wouldn't do for her to be running about while I nod off in this chair._

"Hey you," she began gruffly. "I think it is high time that you went to bed."

"I am not v-very tired," Aria replied calmly. "But if y-you are you c-can go to sleep. I w-won't go anywhere."

"You are sort of missing the point," Marie grumbled as she creakily got to her feet. Preparing to chase the child into her bed the old cleaning lady jumped when a knock sounded upon the door. Changing directions, she stomped to the entrance and flung the door open. "What is it?" she snapped before even bothering to see who was there.

James Turner visibly winced at her sharp tone, but soon regained his composure enough to flash her a smile. "I was wondering if Madame Donner might be in. She mentioned before that she would not be going to the party and I had hoped to ask her something and…"

"She is not here right now. And if she were she would not need you to be sniffing around anyway!" Marie snapped crankily, her joints aching as she moved to shut the door in the man's face.

"Wait a moment. No need to get huffy. I only wanted to ask her if she knew where…"

Taking offence from his patronizing tone, Marie reached behind the door and grabbed the broom that was resting there. Brandishing it like a weapon, she poked the startled tenor in the chest. "I am a tired old woman but I will not be having you calling me huffy right to my face!" Smacking him with the broom again, she managed to fright the man so badly that he stumbled back several feet.

"Wait! I didn't mean…"

Not really wanting to hear any excuses, and secretly having a great deal of fun at his expense, Marie charged out of the doorway, broom still in hand. Seeing that she meant to hit him again, James turned and took off down the hallway, cursing colorfully over his shoulder as the old cleaning lady chased after him. Watching the pair with wide laughing eyes, Aria stood in the doorway with her thumb stuck firmly in her mouth.

"G-Grown ups are f-funny…" she muttered with a shake of her head.

Coming around a nearby corner, Father Thomas gazed curiously down the hall after the retreating figures. Turning to blink at Aria owlishly from behind his glasses, the young priest offered her a smile. "What in the world was that about?"

Shrugging, Aria took her thumb out of her mouth with a loud pop. "T-That man c-called Marie h-huffy. So she c-chased him."

Making a dramatic face for Aria's benefit, Father Thomas reached up to adjust his glasses. "Goodness, I guess that is what he gets for calling names."

Glad to have found someone who shared her mindset, Aria giggled. "Yes! T-That is w-what I think!"

His smile dimming slightly, the priest looked over her head and into the room behind her. "Is there no one else watching you then?"

Shaking her head, completely unconcerned, Aria bunched her hands into the long skirt of her night dress. "No, it w-was only M-Marie. M-Momma went to the d-dance. I w-would have g-gone with M-Momma, but I am too little."

Nodding his head thoughtfully, a nervous wrinkle marring his brow, Father Thomas took a step forward. "Ah, well, I wasn't invited to go to the party either."

"You w-weren't!"

Dabbing at the beaded sweat upon his forehead, he shook his head. "Oh no, people never like to have a priest at their parties. You see, most people think priests are no fun."

Coming out of the doorway, Aria reached out and took the blond man's hand. "I t-think you are a l-lot of fun!" she intoned enthusiastically.

"Well thank you," he said slowly, his large blue eyes darkening as his sandy eyebrows drew down into a grim frown. "Um…I…uh…" Seeming rather befuddled, he couldn't quite get any words past his lips for several moments. Taking a deep breath, he was able to gather up some control. "I have an idea…" he croaked, a thick layer of guilt crackling in his voice. "How about I look after you until Marie gets back from beating that man? We can take a short walk around… maybe peek in on the dance for a little while?"

"Yeah! T-That sounds l-like fun!" Aria agreed happily, skipping along with the priest as he turned and led her down the hall. Chattering the whole way about how pretty her mother had looked in her new dress, she didn't even notice that with each step they took, the more white-faced Father Thomas became.

Coming to a vacant area of the backstage, the priest looked almost ready to faint. Finally picking up on his distress, Aria looked up at him with large worried eyes. "Are y-you all right?"

A figure silently stepped out from behind a curtain then, the material of his dress clothes hissing through the darkness, causing Aria to jump and latch onto Father Thomas' leg. "Oh, he will be fine, Arianna," Andrew's richly cultured voice offered from the darkness. "Thank you, Father. You have served your purpose well. My associate and I will take charge of the child from now on."


	65. Closing the Trap

**Hey all! For once I am not late with this update! Aren't you proud of me! Really though, Terpsichore got this chapter back to me super fast so a huge thank you to her! Oh and once again thanks to all of my reviewers! All of your comments were so funny and inspiring that it really helped to crank this chapter out. (Sorry I haven't replied to some of you yet but I will try to get to that tomorrow!)**

**Oh and before I forget I would like to ask those of you who are going to review to do me a small favor. I am curious to know just how far flung my readers are in the world. So if you could just add at the end of your review where you are from (nothing specific of course) it would be really awesome. Personally, I am from Ohio in the U.S.A. (Picture endless cornfields and that is basically where I grew up.)**

**But anyway enjoy the chapter!**

Chapter 65: Closing the Trap

A figure silently stepped out from behind a curtain then, the material of his dress clothes hissing through the darkness, causing Aria to jump and latch onto Father Thomas's leg. "Oh, he will be fine, Arianna," Andrew's richly cultured voice offered from the darkness. He watched the fear bleach his niece's face deathly white as triumph and adrenaline danced like a drug through his system. "Thank you, Father. You have served your purpose well. My associate and I will take charge of the child from now on."

Another black clad individual materialized out of the dark, coming up behind Andrew with a disturbingly empty smile upon his face. Laying a protective hand upon Aria's head, Father Thomas took a step back from the newest arrival. "I did not know that someone else would be here," he began nervously. "Can he be trusted with a child, my lord? He has the very eyes of the Devil."

Staring up at her uncle in abject terror, Aria's grip on the priest's leg tightened. "W-W-We have t-t-t-to go! It is t-t-t-t-he m-monster!" she cried, so upset that her words were barely able to make it out of her rebellious throat, her reaction to the sight of the young lord spurring the priest to look down at her in confused concern.

Smiling silkily, Andrew raised a calming hand. "Now, now, Father. I would never allow my niece to come to harm. You have nothing to fear. She carries the Donovan blood within her, after all, so until I have children of my own she is a very important young lady."

Not looking very comforted by Andrew's words, Father Thomas appeared stricken, his wide, magnified eyes never leaving the lurking figure of Monsieur Beaumont. "My lord, you know I am h…happy to help you in whatever you need of me because of how you helped my family, but this man… I think you have been deceived as to his character. He has the bearing of the worst sort of criminal."

Giving an elegant shrug Andrew tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, eyeing Aria with all the warmth of a snake looking for its next meal. Funny, that so much could depend upon one little girl. All his plans, all his hopes for the future came down to obtaining one insignificant child. Suppressing the inappropriate laugh that threatened to burst from him, Andrew brought one hand up to cover his mouth. _Stop… don't laugh! If you do the thickheaded idiot of a priest will finally catch on… that is if Arianna's insufferable whimpering already hasn't given the game away._

Without bothering to raise his gaze up to the priest, the young lord slowly tugged his expensive kid gloves from his pale hands. "Well, you would be the one to know exactly what that sort of criminal looks like, Father. If I remember correctly you used to be one." Twisting his gloves slowly between his fingers, he finally brought his beetle black eyes up to meet Father Thomas's, daring the man to contradict him with a slow mocking smile. _Yes, good… remind him how far he has come… remind him how much he has to lose without me._

Lowering his eyes to the floor out of old shame, the priest's protective grip on the child at his side tightened. "I am not that man anymore, my lord. I made my peace with God and now live to absolve myself of my past sins. You know this… you helped me to leave that place."

"Yes, and I also helped your lovely little sister as well. We both know what she would have had to become if I had not intervened." The priest flushed darkly, his wide eyes shooting back up to collide with Andrew's. "And yet, I now find you balking from returning to me one small favor. All I want is my fiancée safe… my family back together again. Is that too much to ask of you, Father, when even now I supply the funds that keep _your_ family living decently not ten blocks from here?"

Two deep and elemental forces warred across Father Thomas's face, aging his boyish features to well beyond his years. Holding his tongue, Andrew kept silent and allowed the demons within the other man stew. The young lord knew that the priest had two choices. He could ignore the warning obviously burning through his conscience and hand Aria over or he could refuse and risk angering the man who even now kept his younger sister off the streets. After a long, protracted moment, Andrew watched the Father's war come to a brutal end, and knowing this, a smug smile began to play at the corners of his mouth.

His shoulders sagging with the weight of his turmoil, Father Thomas dropped his eyes guiltily to the ground. "No, sir, that is not too much to ask…" he finally croaked raggedly.

"Good!" Andrew bit out. "As I said before, my associate and I will now take charge of Arianna." Stepping forward, a dark triumph glittering in his eyes, Andrew reached out and stroked one finger along Aria's pale cheek. The child stared up at him with large lamp-like eyes, too terrified to move away from his touch. Frowning slightly, Andrew paused in mid-action.

"Strange…" he murmured. "You have your mother's eyes but… but… I can still see John looking out at me as clearly as if he were still…"

Choking off before he could finish, Andrew jerked his hand away from Aria as if the touch of her skin had burnt him. The clammy brush of phantom fingers fleetingly floated over his feverish brow, chilling him straight to the bone. Jerking violently to the side, Andrew's eyes darted about the room wildly, expecting to see a shadowed figure in the corner or the familiar flash of accusatory eyes. Every muscle in his body clenched into knots, waiting for a blow that never came.

Watching this odd behavior with cool disinterest, Beaumont merely moved forward to grab Aria out of Father Thomas's grip. "All right, enough talking. Give the brat here."

Stepping out of the Frenchman's reach, Father Thomas shook his head. "No! I will not turn the child over to _you_! My debt is with Lord Donovan and my conscience simply will not allow the likes of you to take charge of an innocent. I can see it in you… you are a killer."

Beaumont's lips peeled back from his teeth in a wolfish smile, his deceptively unremarkable features morphing into something monstrous within seconds. Shaking his head with a laugh, he stepped back and leaned against the wall, a knife suddenly appearing in one hand. "Good Lord, he has figured me out. And here I thought I hid it so well," he stated sarcastically, twirling the blade casually between his fingers.

Finding nothing otherworldly hiding in the shadows, Andrew turned his head to one side, shooting Beaumont a quelling glance, his panic pushed his temper close to the boiling point. "Be silent! I tire of your prattling," he hissed out between clenched teeth, fighting for the control he had so quickly lost moments ago.

Losing some of his false humor, the Frenchman straightened from the wall, his grip upon his weapon tightening. "Then allow me to go and get to work. I will not stand here and babysit this brat or that priest. I despise holy men… they make me…very… anxious," he growled, leaning the blade carelessly against one cheek, his flat, dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Swinging around, fury staining his pale face a deep red, Andrew jabbed a finger through the air at the assassin, the imbalance of fear and paranoia within him setting his temper alight with lightning fast speed. "Do not think you can tell me what to do! You… work… for… me! I tell you what to do and when to do it. I say when you are to go and carve up Brielle's blasted masked friend! But if I want you to tie bows in your hair and play dolls with my bloody niece THEN YOU WILL DO IT!"

Fuming silently, Beaumont dropped the knife from his face, looking for a moment as if he desperately wanted to bury it in Andrew's heart. "So long as you pay me, it is as you say…" he finally ground out, crossing his arms mutinously across his chest.

Gulping in several deep wit-saving breaths, Andrew ran a hand through his black hair. He allowed his eyes to travel the surrounding area one last time, but seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he allowed his shoulders to relax, determining that he had imagined the ghostly touch. Turning back to Father Thomas and Aria, Andrew paused when he caught sight of the priest's expression. "Is there a problem?"

"You just said you hired that man to kill someone!"

Sighing at the irritations he must endure, Andrew straightened his jacket. "Yes, I believe I mentioned to you that my fiancée has been under the influence of a dangerous criminal."

"But I assumed you would turn the man over to the police!"

"Ah, then you assumed wrong."

"I am beginning to think that perhaps I have been deceived as to _your_ character, my lord," the young priest stated slowly, his voice gaining more confidence as he continued. "I will not be an accomplice to a murder, your funding be damned! It would go against everything I have striven to build my life around. I am a man of God; I cannot allow you to commit such a horrendous crime, even if the man is a criminal." Turning quickly, ushering Aria out before him, Father Thomas headed back in the direction from which he had come.

Pressing his lips together into a tight furious line, Andrew reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a small handgun. Following after the Father, a mad glint brightening his dark gaze, he brought his arm back and slammed the butt of the pistol across the back of the priest's head. The loud crack of wood against bone exploded through the quiet of the room, followed quickly by the hollow thump of Father Thomas's body hitting the floor. Breathing raggedly, his eyes fixed upon the small pool of blood gathering under the priest's head, Andrew took another threatening step forward.

Aria let out a short, pained shriek as she looked back at the fallen man. "Look what you did!" she screamed, in flawless English, the shock of her perfect words enough to jolt Andrew into looking up at her.

For a split second he didn't seem to even see the child standing before him, but after a moment the desperate fury in his eyes faded. Blinking blankly as the tears spilled down Aria's face, he looked back down at the priest upon the floor. Surprise briefly wrinkled the skin between his dark brows. "I didn't mean to do that…" he murmured, kneeling down to check the priest's pulse.

Finding a steady heartbeat at the man's throat, Andrew stood, his expression clearing. "But he should not have threatened to get in my way."

Sweeping around the fallen man's body without a second glance Beaumont reached out and clamped a hand around Aria's arm as she turned and tried to run off. Holding firm even as the child tried desperately to jerk free of him the Frenchman looked to Andrew. "My, my I had no idea you could be so physical, my lord," Beaumont leered as he hefted Aria up under one arm like a sack of potatoes. With her legs kicking at his back ineffectually he inclined his chin toward the door. "But putting that aside I think we should be on our way."

Giving one last look down at Father Thomas Andrew gave a stiff nod and stood, feeling numb and slightly off balance. _Where the hell is my damn triumph now? Why do I feel so sick inside? I should be happy… I am so close. It was his fault for getting in the way… it was his fault… _"You are right. Come. We will put her somewhere safe then go after her mother."

"And then?" Beaumont asked eagerly, a new excitement raising the color in his face.

"And then once I am on my way you can take as much time as you like draining the life out of your quarry," Andrew stated hollowly, the chasm inside his heart widening until he was sure he would drown in the darkness festering within.

"Excellent, sir… that sounds delightful. Let us hurry then!" Far more cheerful now, Beaumont strode off into the dark, immune to Aria's futile struggles.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Feeling the brand of curious eyes burning tracks over his skin, Erik bristled in response, instinctually uncomfortable out in the light and the crowd that any normal man would take for granted. There were no shadows to disappear in here, no hideaways, no secret passages. This was not the playground of a Phantom but of mortal men. Moving through the crowd stiffly, his eyes brazenly meeting all those studying him in a challenge, Erik led Brielle out onto the dance floor. Busy looking for any manner of threat from those around him, he hardly even noticed the deferential way the crowd parted before him.

_One dance… One dance…_He repeated over and over within his mind in a comforting mantra meant to soothe his growing agitation. _One dance and then we can leave._

Letting out a soft whisper of a sigh behind him, Brielle wrapped her fingers more tightly around his, giving his gloved hand a gentle squeeze. The touch was enough to distract him from his obsessive mental chanting and he turned his head away from the crowd to look back at her. When his eyes landed upon her face she graced him with a brilliant smile, her cheeks flushing a delightful pink when he continued to stare at her. _God in heaven she is beautiful…_

Taking a deep breath, Erik felt the pressure of the curious eyes upon him drop away, the garish colors and scents of the dancers on the floor around him bleeding together into a hazy mix of light and sound. Suddenly, he found himself not in a heated room filled with strangers but basking in the glow of a single woman's smile in blissful seclusion. There was no crowd, no party; just Brielle and the music. _Maybe we could stay for two dances after all…_

Returning her smile with one of his own, Erik brought their joined hands up to his lips, his gaze never straying from the play of excitement and happiness skipping across Brielle's face. Her eyes went soft as a summer fog at his touch, sending an urgent flash of heat streaking through his gut. Picturing how she would look later, her snowy hair loose and splayed across the pillows, Erik allowed his smile to grow into a grin.

"Are you going to be staring at me all night then or are we ever going to get around to dancing?" Brielle teased, taking a step closer as she raised a hand up to rest upon his shoulder.

Placing one hand securely around her waist, Erik gave an arrogant shrug. "Madame, I am a man of many talents. Do you honestly think that I cannot perform both feats at once?" Her laughter at his response tinkled pleasingly over his ears as he swung her into the first steps of the waltz, holding her a bit closer than would normally be considered proper.

Moving lightly across the floor, the pair followed through the changing steps of the dance without a single misplaced foot. Hardly noticing when the waltz ended and another lively dance began, they swirled in time to the violins. Tilting her head slightly to one side, Brielle regarded him with such an expression of joy that he was sure his heart would leap from his chest at any moment.

"I am so proud of you, Erik… I hope you know that. You risked your own comfort just to make me happy tonight. I do not think I could be happier than I am at this very moment. You did that… it is because of you that I feel as if I am hardly even touching the ground right now."

Unused to such open praise, Erik hardly knew how to respond. _Have I ever heard those words before? 'I am so proud of you…Erik.'_ Faltering on one of the dance steps, he looked to the ground in order to get his feet working properly again. The immediate urge to downplay what she had said bubbled up within him, but instead of giving into his old self deprecating habit he felt himself simply accepting the praise.

"It is not as bad as I might have imagined…" he said quietly. "Apparently, as long as I am with you I can do just about anything."

Pleased by what he had said, Brielle's hand hooked a bit more tightly over his shoulder, bringing them closer together. "You have no idea how happy I was when I got your note to meet you here!" she gushed. "I wanted to come so badly but I did not want to make you feel as if…"

Frowning slightly in confusion, Erik cut her off. "What note are you talking about?"

Thinking that he was jesting with her, Brielle gave his shoulder a playful swat. "The one you left with this dress."

Feeling a slight blot marring his good mood, Erik's steps slowed. "I did not leave you any note tonight… with the dress or otherwise. And actually I was meaning to ask where you got such a perfect costume… but I was distracted."

"I thought _you_ sent me this dress!"

Coming to a complete stop, Erik's mouth turned down into a befuddled grimace. "I did nothing of the sort. I only came tonight because I couldn't find you in your room. I grabbed this mask at the last second so that I wouldn't stand out like a sore thumb." Pulling Brielle off the dance floor, Erik moved to a slightly quieter spot near one wall. "You will explain why you thought I had planned on meeting you here."

Her flushed cheeks draining a little bit of their color, Brielle looked about the room, at a complete loss. "I went back to my room after the performance and found a box with this dress in it. There was a typed note that asked me to come here tonight. I only assumed it had been you to send it seeing as you are the only person who would ask me to meet him anywhere."

"No, not the only person," Erik ground out as he quickly thought of one other culprit. "That damned James Turner fellow was sniffing around you not five hours ago!" Black crashing waves of raw fury seared through his body at the thought of the other man's unmitigated gall. "I will kill him… I warned him before, but by God this time I will kill him!"

Looking alarmed at his dark expression, Brielle grabbed hold of his arm. "Erik! Don't you dare!"

Turning with deadly intent from her, Erik quickly scanned the surrounding area. "Stay here. I will be right back," he commanded as he shrugged out of her grip and shoved his way back into the crowd.

Dimly hearing his name called over the noise of the party, Erik spotted his target sipping punch across the room. Without pausing, the masked man plowed toward the refreshment table, coming up behind Monsieur Turner in record time. In one fluid movement he took hold of the other man's collar and shoved him back against the wall, concealed from most onlookers by a series of tall potted plants.

"Did I not warn you earlier to stay away from Madame Donner?" he hissed, through clenched teeth, practically lifting the other man off the floor as he slammed him against the wall again.

Clawing at the hands at his throat, Turner gasped several unintelligible words. After sucking in a shaky breath the man tried again. "Yes, and I have been staying away! I am not an idiot…"

Enraged by the obvious lie Erik lifted Turner another inch off the floor. "Really? You lying sack of shit! Then why did you send her that blasted dress!"

Nearly going purple from lack of air, the tenor shook his head frantically. "I didn't…I didn't send her anything! You have the wrong man!"

Pinching his mouth into a thin white line, Erik lowered the man to the ground. "Do not lie to me further. I know it was you! You were the one who was asking her to this dance earlier… of course you sent it!"

Gulping in several deep breaths, Turner continued to shake his head. "It isn't what you think. You didn't give me a chance to explain earlier!"

Narrowing his eyes, Erik snarled, "Then explain now!"

Staring up at Erik as if he were the Devil himself James hurried to comply. "I have no romantic designs upon your lady! I only wished to ask of her a favor. I am new to France and am not very clear on the proper way to introduce myself to a woman here. I thought to ask Madame Donner to help me get her employer's attention. That is all I wanted! I just wanted her help!"

Hearing a ring of truth in the singer's words, Erik took a step back. "You wanted Brielle to help you speak with Carlotta?"

"Yes! Madame Carlotta is… difficult to approach. And since they seem to be friendly to one another I had hoped…" Trailing off there, Turner shot Erik a wary glance. "You are not going to choke me again, are you, Monsieur?"

"No, of course not!" Erik snapped. "If you want to talk to Carlotta just do it on your own."

Edging away from Erik, James slid sideways along the wall. "Yes, of course…" Turning quickly the singer bolted, running like a madman for safety.

His temper slowly draining out of him, Erik reached up to scratch his head in confusion. "If it wasn't him then who was it?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Left staring in shock after Erik's quickly diminishing form, Brielle shouted his name several times in a bid to call him back from his rampage. Stepping forward, she made an attempt to follow him through the crowd, but her small form and wide skirts hampered her movements. Irritation at being left behind thrummed through her body as she gave up. Raising a hand up to readjust her mask, she stood on her tiptoes, hoping to at least see what mayhem he was going to cause on the other side of the room. _God a-mighty he better not kill anyone! Not in the middle of a blasted party!_

Worriedly biting her bottom lip, she silently cursed James Turner and his stupid dress. _Well maybe not the dress... it does look very good on me._ Looking down at herself she sighed. _I should have kept my mouth shut about that blasted note! But then… how was I supposed to know that that insolent singer would actually go so far. I mean how in the world did he guess my size? Only someone who knows me well would know something like that…_

Shaking her head, Brielle turned to the side and slowly began weaving her way in the direction she had seen Erik go. As she moved through the crowd, she felt the slide of people's eyes upon her, so she didn't think it odd when her skin began to prickle in response to the scrutiny. But as time ticked by, Brielle became increasingly aware of the creeping feeling of being watched. Different than the passing glance of a stranger, the freezing cold touch of eyes upon her was more specific, more purposeful.

Stopping in her tracks, she looked around for the culprit behind her odd feeling, but found the search very difficult; the wide assortment of masks and costumes made it impossible to pinpoint exactly where everyone's eyes were focused. Rubbing both her arms to dispel the gooseflesh growing there, Brielle tried to ignore the growing sense of malice she felt floating through the air. With her stomach doing flip flops inside her, Brielle clenched her teeth and started through the crowd again, more determined than ever to reach Erik in all haste. She was beginning to get the very distinct impression that she should not be alone.

Smiling politely, she apologized to two gentlemen as she squeezed between them, a flutter of unexplainable panic rushing through her blood. Just as she could see the far wall where she thought Erik must be, a gentle gloved hand wrapped around her upper arm, drawing her to an immediate stop. Her heart jumped up into her throat, cutting off her air for one painful moment. Gasping in a breath, she knew even before she turned around that the hand upon her arm was not Erik's.

Turning her head slowly she looked up into a plain, full-faced black mask. Only the man's eyes were visible through the disguise, and for a brief moment Brielle thought he was simply an overzealous partygoer. But as those eyes glittered down at her like a raven's wing in the sun she could feel the floor drop out from under her. _Andrew! _she thought blankly, too shocked, too panicked to move.

The harsh darkness of his eyes softened ever so slightly as he raised his other hand up to brush tenderly across her cheek. The touch sent prickling terror shooting through her system, jolting her out of her shock. Jerking backward, her mouth opening on a scream, Brielle pushed against her captor with both hands. She would have made more progress fighting against a brick wall, for her efforts hardly made an impact. Shifting the hand from her cheek to cover her mouth, Andrew's grip on her arm tightened as he subtly dragged her toward the edge of the crowd.

"I would not fight if I were you," he said quietly, in a pleasant conversational tone of voice.

Biting down on the fingers he had covering her mouth, Brielle ignored his warning. "I will scream and Erik will come and choke you with your own disemboweled intestines!"

Shaking his head, Andrew tsked her reaction. "Go ahead then," Andrew replied, still in that same insufferable polite tone. "But know that if you should choose such a path that you will never see your daughter again as long as you live."

Choking on the breath she had sucked in to use to scream at the top of her lungs, Brielle clamped her mouth shut. Her first instinct was to disregard his threat, but something about the sudden chill she saw in his eyes gave her pause. "What did you just say?"

Continuing to usher her along by the arm, like a naughty child, Andrew inclined his head slightly to one side. "While you were busy out here I took possession of my niece."

"You are… you are lying! I left her with a friend. Marie would never have given her over to you!"

Shrugging, Andrew didn't even pause as he continued to move her toward a side door near the back of the room. "I am sure you are right. My progress in retrieving you was much hampered by the misplaced loyalty the people here seem to feel for each other. At first, anyway… but, you see, I called in a favor from someone I knew already working here. He turned out to be… most helpful in getting her away from the backstage hooligans... even if he later proved to be most disappointing."

Clawing at the hand upon her arm, Brielle shook her head. "No… I do not believe you."

Sighing heavily, Andrew reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a length of patterned blue ribbon, ribbon Brielle had tied into Aria's hair earlier that day. Her face draining of all color, Brielle felt her legs give out from under her. Sickening waves of panic churned wildly within her stomach as her beleaguered mind slowly began to grasp the full scope of the horrifying trap closing in around her. _He has her… he has her… oh god!_

Immediately wrapping a supportive arm about her waist, Andrew didn't even miss a step as he practically carried her through the crowd. No one so much as gave them a second glance as they broke free of the main party area and crossed the marble floor to the side door. Looking like a gentleman helping his flushed companion to a less crowded area, Brielle knew no one would think something ill was happening. Hopelessly looking for Erik's tall figure, Brielle didn't even see anyone she knew who she could secretly signal for help.

Reaching up to slide the black mask from his face, Andrew aimed a smile down at her. "See now how pleasant we can be together if we try? I am glad you have decided to come easily… I do not like having to see you in pain… and truly I did not want to cause you any. It is better this way."

_What can I do? What can I do? If I fight he will take my daughter from me… If I do not fight he will take me too… I would rather die than going back to living in fear of him… I cannot live in the same house as the man who killed John!_

"If you truly felt that way you would leave me be! Please, Andrew… you have always claimed that you love me, but if you did you would let me go! Please, please let me go!" Brielle pleaded desperately, trying to stall for time as Andrew pulled her ever farther away from the safety of the crowd.

Pausing for the first time since he had taken hold of her, Andrew turned to look back at her, a crease marring his smooth brow. After a moment he shook his head and smiled. "You are trying to confuse me, but I will not let you. I know my purpose… now more than ever. We are fated to be together, you and I… ever since I first saw you I knew that. I felt it to the very bottom of my soul. I knew you could be the very thing to fill in the blank spots within me. Help me become better than what I am… better than John could have ever hoped to be."

Stopping there, he looked sharply over his shoulder as if looking for someone. "And he cannot scare me now, no matter how hard he tries. The fire didn't work but the bullet did… he is dead…dead."

Leaning as far away from him as she could, Brielle could only stare up at him as a new horror dawned upon her. "You are mad… you have lost your mind!"

Ignoring her statement with a practiced air Andrew simply reached out and opened the door in front of them, easily pushing her through without another word. "It is all right that you feel frightened now. I understand that it isn't your fault. Your kind heart makes you weak to the manipulations of others. Once we are married you will see the right of my way of thinking."

"I will never marry you! You killed John, your own brother. You are a murderer!"

The pleasant expression upon his face morphed into a black sneer in the matter of a few seconds. Gripping her arm in a bruising force, Andrew brought his face down close to hers. "Do not threaten me! And do not forget your position in these matters! Not only do I have your daughter in my possession but I also have legal custody of her. It was easy to do… The Donovan name carries a great deal of weight in Paris…"

Shutting her mouth, Brielle felt very close to being physically ill. _This cannot be happening… Erik where are you? I need you!_ Turning her eyes to the ground she missed the sharpness in Andrew's expression as he studied her.

"You are thinking of him right now, aren't you?" the young lord snapped, dropping his hand away from Brielle's arm. "I can tell from your face! Stop it!"

"You may be able to force me to go with you because you threaten my daughter, but you will never be able to control my thoughts, Andrew! I will think of who I please and there is nothing you can do about it!" Brielle shouted, finally losing what self control she had left.

Raising both hands up to tangle roughly in his own hair, Andrew spewed out a series of curses as he stalked a step away from her. Turning back toward her with an unbalanced gleam in his eyes he reached out and clamped his hands on both sides of her face, pressing his fingers painfully against her skin. "Then I will press him right out of your head. With my bare hands I will squeeze every thought of him into nothingness!"

Gasping at the violence in his actions, Brielle tried to dislodge his hands; pulling ineffectually against his arms she finally resorted to kicking him in the shins. "Let go! Let go!"

The scuff of a footfall sounded from a spot directly behind her, but before Brielle could hope that she would be rescued a cold voice cut through the quiet of the hall. "My lord, though you may do as you like, I am sure you would come to regret killing the woman you have spent so much time pursuing."

Releasing her face after a moment's pause, Andrew stumbled away from her. Falling backward, Brielle fell flat on her behind, several coils of her hair falling free of their pins to hang haphazardly about her face. Looking over at the man who had just stepped out of the shadows to join them, Brielle felt her stomach drop. Whoever this stranger was, he was clearly not there to help her in any way. Feeling the sting of frightened tears begin to burn behind her eyes, Brielle raised shaky hands up to pull her mask from her face.

"Thank you for reminding me why we are here, Beaumont. For a moment… I had forgotten," Andrew murmured flatly, obviously shaken by his own erratic behavior.

"You will not get away with this, Andrew. I do not care how many people you have working for you. In the end you will not get away with this!" Brielle stated with certainty from her spot upon the floor.

"I have already gotten away with it, Brielle… you simply have yet to accept the truth of that."

"Erik will look for me!"

"Not if he is dead…" Andrew replied, sharing a secret smile with Beaumont.

Realizing the role of the other man, Brielle raised a hand up to cover her pounding heart. "You are going to kill him!"

"Yes, I am going to have him killed," Andrew breathed with relish.

Staring up at the monsters standing over her, Brielle wondered how either one of them could freely pass down the street. Knowing what was inside each of them made it hard for her to imagine that they could ever truly be mistaken for men ever again. _I cannot go with him… I have to risk fighting… he will kill us all in the end. He has lost his mind… First it will be Erik…then Aria…then me… he won't stop until we are all dead. _

Pulling back her arm, Brielle tossed her mask at Andrew's face as she awkwardly scrambled to her feet. Screaming at the top of her lungs she raced back the way they had come, making it to the door into the ballroom before a pair of vise-like arms wrapped roughly around her waist. Grappling for the door handle with her attacker, she managed to pry it open several inches before the man Andrew had called Beaumont slammed it shut again. Lifting her up as if she were a rag doll, the man practically tossed her away from the door, using none of the finesse Andrew had tried to employ when leading her from the dance floor. Skidding painfully across the floor, Brielle bumped the back of her head against the floorboards. With her head spinning, she tried to get up again, but was pushed to the floor by a hand between her shoulder blades.

"Blast you, be more careful!" Andrew shouted furiously at the man holding her down.

Looking up with a glare, Beaumont remained where he was. "I was, my lord. Usually when I stop someone from escaping they stop breathing by the time they hit the floor."

"Take your God damned hands off her!" Andrew bellowed, reaching out to grab Beaumont by the collar, jerking him roughly away from where Brielle lay sprawled on the floor.

Incensed, Beaumont pushed the young lord away from himself. "It isn't like you weren't just a few moments ago trying to crush her skull between your hands, you crazy bastard!"

Andrew opened his mouth to respond, but the metallic click of a hammer on a gun being cocked had everyone in the darkened hall freezing. "Shut up the two of you or your brains will be a decorating the floor!" a deep voice commanded from a few feet away, the fury dripping from every word thick with an Irish accent.

Sitting up slowly, her head still spinning from when she had cracked it against the floor, Brielle felt the first cleansing wash of relief rush through her. "Conner!"

Stepping out from behind a wide stone column, the familiar shape of her brother came into full view, his green eyes glittering like broken glass in the dim light as he leveled the weapon in his hand at both Andrew and Beaumont. "Get up slowly, Bri, and come toward me."

"How did you find me?"

His teeth flashed brightly as he allowed a quick humorless smile. "Happened to be on the other side of that door over there when it popped open a few minutes ago. Saw you fighting with some man so I took another way around and found you here."

Glaring at Conner murderously, Andrew kept his hands stiffly at his sides; Beaumont, looking distinctly calmer, stood with both hands up in a sign of surrender. "Conner… you really shouldn't be getting involved in another man's domestic disputes," Andrew growled.

"Oh shut it! What domestic dispute? You have never been and never will be married to my sister… what we have here is an assault, and I plan to bring the both of you to justice for attacking Bri."

Throwing back his head with a slightly unhinged cackle, Andrew wrapped his arms about his waist. "I own the police in Paris! Do you honestly think they will listen to you!"

"No… That is not the sort of justice I was speaking of. People have their own brand of law and order here, you see… They take care of their own…That is why I had Meg go to find Erik. You know they say he has all manner of torture devices down in the cellars here. You could scream yourself hoarse and no one would ever hear you down there."

Losing his smile along with some of his color, Andrew glanced around nervously. Seeing no one approaching yet, he turned back to Conner, slowly regaining some of the cool disdain in his expression. "So until the reinforcements arrive you are the only thing to keep us under control."

"Yeah, me and about six bullets just waiting to blow off your knee caps."

Closing his eyes with a smile, Andrew dropped his hands from his middle. "Good…" Without pausing he brought one hand up casually, the gleam of metal clutched in his fist barely discernible in the darkness. Before anyone could even blink, there was a deafening roar and a quick flash of light as Andrew fired off the pistol he had taken from his jacket when he was laughing.

Conner's mouth opened in surprise at the noise. Standing utterly still for what seemed like forever, he slowly looked down at the blossom of crimson appearing against the shoulder of his jacket. His own gun falling to the floor from a now numbed hand, the Irishman sank to his knees. Cursing hollowly he pressed a hand against the wound, his face going deathly pale, his body stilling.

"NOOO!" Brielle shrieked, as she watched a dark puddle begin to spread under her brother's slumped form. "No, no!"


	66. Into the Night

**Hey all! Sorry this chapter took so long to get out to you. Terpsichore and I had some computer problems that delayed this update! (That and this chapter is about twice as long as normal!) **

**Thanks to all of the wonderful reviewers who responded for the last chapter! You guys inspired me to try and make this the best chapter ever! Oh and two very talented people did some fan art for the story over the last week. Silvin did a comic style drawing from the last chapter that just blew me away. And iluvmyphantom did a really beautiful pic of Brielle. If you want to check it out go to the following link.**

http// img143 .imageshack .us /my .php ?image bri517 wp. jpg

(As usual take out the spaces. And just in case it won't show up there is an equal sign between image and Bri…enjoy!)

**Oh and P.S. another big cliffhanger at the end of this chapter… but do keep in mind this is not the end yet! Enjoy the chapter!**

Chapter 66: Into the Night

One heartbeat of time passed. Two. Pulling himself out of the stunned stillness enveloping the room, Conner slowly looked down at the splash of red flushing brightly down the front of his jacket. Surprised by the growing sight of blood, the Irishman struggled to comprehend what had happened. _He fired his gun… but I haven't been shot… I don't have time to be shot… I must be imagining… _

Black, gauzy webs weaved themselves through his brain, making it difficult to process even the simplest thought through the shock. Seconds later, a bone-shattering coldness insidiously crept over his body, spreading like a bitter fog through his veins, freezing his every limb until he couldn't feel his extremities. Distantly he felt his fingers loosen from the trigger of the gun in his hand, until the weapon slid from his grip and bounced against the floor. The world tilted under his feet. Losing his balance, he sank boneless to the floor.

_There is no pain,_ he thought dimly. _Where is the pain?_ Raising a hand to press against the wound on his shoulder, he felt the warmth of his own blood washing through his fingers. A high feminine scream tore through the buzzing that was ringing through his ears, effectively shocking him out of his stunned sense of detachment. Chasing the ragged echoes of the shriek waves of burning agony suddenly blistered across his chest. Feeling suddenly faint, Conner squeezed his eyes tightly shut. A groan ripped from his throat as he heard someone take a few steps toward him. He should be concerned, he knew, but he couldn't seem to make his quickly weakening body respond to his alarm.

"Haha! Very physical indeed, my lord. Shall I finish him off for you or..." Beaumont's smooth French broke through the quiet of the room before being cut off in mid-sentence.

"Shut up, you idiot, and show a bit of discretion. I take no pleasure in the fact that he forced me to take action. This will make everything ten times more difficult!" Andrew huffed angrily, stuffing his pistol back inside the concealment of his jacket. "Do you realize that the entire ballroom could have just heard that shot? I have no idea how sound carries in this place. Blast it all, we could be set upon by a hundred people at any second!"

The sound of a lighter set of footsteps hurriedly rushed to Conner's side. Stirring at the noise, he managed to open his eyes in time to see his sister's ghostly pale figure drop to the floor next to him. Somehow the sight of her panic-stricken features was able to distract him from the fiery pain eating away at his left shoulder. _God a-mighty, she looks as if I am about to die… No way in hell am I going to do that… there are too many other important things I have to do. I have to help Bri! I have to marry Meg! Get up, Conner… Do something! _His foggy mind began to clear as a new wave of adrenaline washed through his system.

Looking stricken, Brielle leaned forward and pressed both her small hands against the wound in his shoulder, sparking off another wave of painful torment, but effectively slowing the amount of blood loss. Mumbling to herself, Brielle's snowy brows drew together into a fierce line of concentration, her fear-flattened eyes turning dark as wet slate. Gritting his teeth against another moan rising up the back of his throat, Conner attempted to offer up a smile, automatically feeling the need to ease the stark terror from Brielle's taut expression, but in the end the weak grin turned down into a grimace.

"Do not move, you dolt," she whispered hurriedly, a fine tremor beginning to work its way through her hands. "Do you want to bleed to death? You should have stayed hidden…"

"I couldn't stand it, to let you just be taken. Would hurt my… male pride," Conner rasped, surprised that his voice actually worked despite the searing pressure pushing against his lungs. "Leave me, Bri, and get away from here, or it would have been for nothing."

His sister opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off when Andrew strode forward and hastily dragged her backward by one arm. "Enough! We have to go now. Leave him to his fate. It is his own fault for holding a gun upon an English lord!" Andrew reasoned moodily as he hauled Brielle's struggling body across the smooth marble floor.

Grappling with her captor, her now bloody hands slipping ineffectively over Andrew's upper arms, Brielle let out a screech of protest. "He could bleed to death! Let me go!"

Leaning down to haul Brielle to her feet, both his arms wrapping about her small waist, Andrew ignored her pleas, turning his eyes instead to the man standing a few feet away from him. "It may take some time for him to bleed into unconsciousness. Make sure that he will not speak to anyone until then. It wouldn't do to leave a witness behind," Andrew ordered smoothly, his cool tone unaffected by the woman struggling within his arms.

"It would be my pleasure, my lord," Beaumont replied, stepping forward with a bloodthirsty glint in his eyes.

Throwing herself against the confines of Andrew's arms, Brielle clawed the air towards the assassin, trying to grab hold of him and slow his progress toward Conner. "Don't you touch him, you black-hearted bastard!" she screamed so loudly that Andrew was forced to place a hand over her mouth. Her eyes darted to Conner's, then away to skitter about the room, searching wildly for something to do. He could practically see the wheels inside her head spinning madly with her every thought.

Completely unconcerned by the desperate, muffled cries coming from behind him, Beaumont advanced to where Conner lay helpless upon the floor. Watching his own death casually walking towards him, Conner painfully stretched out his uninjured arm toward where his gun lay a few feet away. Without quickening his steps, Beaumont strolled forward, opening and closing his fists excitedly all the way. When he finally came up along side Conner's prone form, he casually placed his heel upon the redhead's outstretched hand. Crushing down with a twist of his foot, he practically grinned when Conner let out a pained howl.

Crouching down low, his heel still pressing down upon Conner's hand, Beaumont leveled his prey with a predatory gaze. "Time to go to sleep, monsieur."

With his heart racing within his chest and the bullet wound burning with his every breath, Conner kicked out a leg and knocked Beaumont off balance. "I don't think so, boyo," he snapped back, hating how weak his own words sounded in the air.

Just as Beaumont was righting himself, a murderous fury now burning brightly in his eyes, a surprised yelp issued from across the room. Momentarily distracting him from his attacker, Conner flashed a quick glance toward the sound just in time to see Brielle clamping her teeth even harder upon Andrew's hand. Screeching now in protest, Andrew struggled to pry her mouth off of him. Taking advantage of his loosened grip, Brielle released his hand. Spinning around quickly, she drew back her arm and ruthlessly smashed her palm into Andrew's perfect aristocratic nose.

Releasing her completely, the young lord covered his face with both hands, stumbling backwards as a river of blood poured down his chin. Without missing a beat, Brielle lashed out and kicked Andrew in the kneecaps, causing his shout to become a full-fledged bellow. Breathing hard now, her snowy hair hanging in loops about her face, Brielle picked up her skirts and took off running into the darkness, her pale figure standing out like a beacon in the shadows.

"If you want me then you will have to find me first!" she called mockingly over her shoulder, the slight tremor in her tone betraying the fear still pumping through her system.

Dropping his hands from his face, Andrew glared after her, his injured nose already swelling up to twice its normal size. Gesturing wildly, he began limping in the direction she had taken. "Forget about him and get after her!" he shouted, looking back at where Beaumont stood next to Conner.

Growling under his breath, Beaumont shot Conner a brief fuming scowl, that one look containing all the boiling darkness festering within the Frenchman's soul. Straightening fluidly, he left the bleeding man and shot off in a full-out run after Brielle, Andrew following with an awkward limp behind him. Feeling as if he had just escaped a dance with the devil, Conner let out the breath he hadn't been aware he had been holding, but his relief was short lived. All too soon a new, more tangible fear for Brielle's safety burst violently within him, momentarily even blocking out the pain burning in his chest. _By the bloody saints, he looks a like a man… but he isn't. Beaumont would kill her without a qualm. _

Struggling to get up and follow after the fleeing villains, Conner fell back to the floor when the world under his feet tilted sickeningly upon its axis. Cursing the weakness stealing through his body, Conner could only watch helplessly as Andrew and Beaumont disappeared around a far-off corner. And then a terrible thought floated to the forefront of his mind. _She didn't run off because I told her to… to save herself. She ran to draw them away from me! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! And now all I can do is lay here and bleed. Curse of curses, may I be kicked far over the hills of Damnation!_

"It is up to Erik now…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Skirting around the edge of the crowd in the main entranceway, Meg searched desperately for the man she had met earlier that night, the man she knew simply as Erik. Earlier she and Conner had been flirting outrageously on the outer edges of the party, when a nearby door had been flung open, offering them the brief but alarming view of Brielle struggling with a male attacker. At that point Conner had told her to go and find Erik as he ran off to begin the rescue himself, leaving her desperately worried about him as she tried to slog her way through hundreds of half-drunk partygoers.

"Excuse me please. Excuse me," she practically chanted as she moved through the crowd, her naturally polite nature still coming through despite the tension building within her abdomen. A bead of sweat dripped down her temple behind her mask, making the uncomfortably stuffy attire even more unbearable.

_I have to get help. I have to get help before Conner gets himself killed! I… I don't have time for this!_ Reaching up to tear her mask from her heat-flushed cheeks, Meg tossed the thing onto the ground without a backward glance. Screwing a look of fierce determination upon her face, Meg pushed forward. Shoving her way through the middle of groups, she used her dance-strengthened legs to make a quick line directly across the floor to where she had last seen Brielle and Erik. Bursting out of the crowd near the refreshment table, Meg hurriedly scanned the people nearby, finding it difficult to locate a man whose face she had only ever seen masked. In the end her panic drove her to step up onto a nearby chair for a better vantage point.

Spotting Erik almost immediately, pinning another man against the wall several yards away, Meg gracefully hopped off the chair and took off in a run towards him. "Erik! Erik!" she shouted, trying and failing to project her voice over the music. Expertly avoiding the wandering hands of several intoxicated gentlemen, Meg drew closer to her target. Breathing a little harder from her exertions, and the annoying weight of her heavy skirts, she opened her mouth and shouted his name again.

Having just let the other man go, Erik finally heard his name being called. Turning his head toward her, his porcelain blue eyes watched with veiled curiosity as she came up alongside him. "Mademoiselle Giry?" he said slowly, taking in her rumpled appearance with a quickly growing frown. "What is the matter?"

Staring up at him as she tried to catch her breath, Meg suddenly got the disorienting feeling that she had seen this man somewhere before, known him before Brielle had introduced him. Trying to shake off the shiver which chose that moment to chill her skin, Meg straightened to her full height. "Brielle is in some sort of trouble. Conner and I were on the other side of the ballroom and we saw her struggling with some man. Conner has already gone off to help, but he told me to find you!"

The expression in his eyes changed so quickly from mild concern to a black murderous rage that Meg nearly took a cautious step backward. Never in her life had she seen such intense darkness in a man's eyes. In that moment she was sure that she was standing in front of someone who had taken another's life. _Who is this man? Not one of the stagehands like I thought earlier… people who look like that would not be hired here._

"Where did you see her?" he demanded simply, fear clouding his voice with every word.

Turning to point in the right direction, Meg had the strange sensation that everything would be all right. Despite the tide of fury flowing from his every fiber something about the fear she saw in his gaze settled her growing suspicions. This man, whoever he might really be under that mask, wouldn't allow anything truly bad to happen to her friend. Or so she hoped. _I am just being dramatic… of course he hasn't killed anyone. _"Behind a side door to the left of the main staircase. In the hallway they blocked off for the party."

Erik nodded and made to sweep off into the crowd but Meg reached out to stop him. "The man we saw. He wasn't Lord Donovan. I saw his face. He was someone I had never seen before."

"Then it is his misfortune to have stumbled into this place," he snarled low in his throat.

Shaking off her hand, he turned and stalked into the crowd. Startled by how quickly he melted into chaotic swirl of partygoers, Meg hesitated a moment before following in his wake. Though she was only seconds behind the masked man, Meg found that he had disappeared completely, his movements as silent and ephemeral as a ghost. Shaking her head in dismay, Meg spotted an odd shifting of the crowd up ahead of her. _It looks as if they are moving out of the way for something… or someone!_ Barreling in that direction, without any of the finesse Erik so easily employed, Meg doggedly followed him. She caught up to him just as he was about to disappear through a side door.

"Wait! You cannot mean to do this alone! Should we not call for more help? I know that several of the stagehands keep pistols in their rooms."

"No! Pistols would be far too kind an end!" he shot out over his shoulder, his voice cracking like a whip through the air.

The finality in those words startled Meg, but before she could react, Erik had turned those heated eyes back to her. Feeling like a fly pinned to an examination board she froze under his gaze. "But… I may… need your help," he growled reluctantly, obviously unused to such a statement.

"Anything I can do," Meg promised vehemently, her golden curls bouncing with the force of her words.

Shifting his weight in impatience, Erik nodded. "Stay in here and make sure no one comes backstage. They will only get in my way."

Disappointed with the role he was assigning her, Meg glared at him. "I won't allow you to go into this alone! One man cannot go up against unknown odds. Brielle's life may depend on what we all do."

"I will not argue with you," Erik snapped. "Stay here or risk putting yourself in danger! I cannot guarantee your safety otherwise! And I know she would certainly murder me if you should accidentally die!" And with that he turned on his heel and practically faded into the darkness beyond the door.

Left fuming over this man's obviously huge ego, Meg didn't even notice when Carlotta broke out of the crowd and stepped up behind her. "Who waz dat man!" the diva demanded shrilly.

Jumping in reaction to the unexpected question, Meg swung around to look up at the pale-faced singer. "Which man?" she hedged.

"De one I just saw you speaking with!" Carlotta snapped, her dragon mask adding to the ferocity of her tone.

Not wanting to waste any time, Meg gave a dismissive shrug of her shoulders. "Oh, he is just one of Brielle's friends… but I really don't have that much time to talk right now, so I should be going."

Reaching out to latch a hand about Meg's arm, Carlotta prevented the dancer from leaving. "Whatever you do. Never speak to dat man again! And tell Brielle to do de same. He is dangerous… more dangerous dan you may realize!"

Trying to pry the singer's fingers from her arm, Meg stopped when she picked up on the genuine fear in Carlotta's dark eyes. "What are you talking about? He isn't dangerous… He is Brielle's friend and is on his way to help her right now."

"The only assistance dat man can offer is in a quick death. Really he is not a man at all. I would recognize those eyes anywhere… they are the eyes of de Phantom! What trouble is Brielle in dat she has come into contact with such a beast!"

Stunned by Carlotta's claim, Meg could only gape up at the taller woman with her mouth hanging open. "The Opera Ghost? You are saying that Erik is the Opera Ghost?"

"Yes!" Carlotta barked impatiently, panic beginning to seep into her voice, thickening her accent almost beyond recognition. "We must do someting. He cannot be allowed to run free in de building. He is a criminal… a murderer! Oh my God! Call de police! He will kill me if he sees me because I know who he is!"

Feeling just some of Carlotta's growing hysteria leak into her own unease, Meg's heart began to bang wildly within her chest. _She isn't making this up. I have never seen her so afraid. I knew that he was different… I felt it… I saw it in his eyes. How in the world did Brielle get involved with him? Why would Conner think to ask HIM for help? I have to do something! But I cannot inform the police… not yet… Not before he helps Brielle. And she does need all the help she can get… no matter the source. _Resolute in her hasty decision, Meg's expression lost some of its pale worry, her eyes hardening as she contemplated using a madman in her quest to save her friend. Grabbing hold of Carlotta's arm, she dragged the singer through the open door behind her and out of the main party area.

"Shh! Not so loud!" Meg hissed urgently. "There is something you must know."

Struggling with Meg, Carlotta shook her head violently. "No! No! You do not understand!" the singer practically screamed.

Raising a hand, Meg slapped it across Carlotta's face, snapping the older woman out of her growing panic and into a stunned silence. "Brielle is in trouble and I am going to need your help. Can I rely on you? Can I trust you with what I am about to tell you?"

Sniffing against the tears gathering in her eyes, Carlotta stood perfectly still for a moment, paralyzed with her own fear. Then slowly the hunted, trapped edge to her expression faded. "You say Brielle is in trouble?"

"Yes."

Blinking rapidly, the singer took a shaky breath. "Den tell me how to help."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Opening his eyes cautiously, Father Thomas stared blankly at the inside of his own hand. Pain, like nothing he had ever felt before, thrummed through his head, pounding within his cranium until he was sure he would die. Shifting slightly, he noticed dully that the underside of his palm was spotted with bright red drops and so was the floor. Wondering where he was and why his head hurt, Father Thomas slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, his broken glasses hanging precariously by one ear before falling to the ground with a tinkle of shattered glass. Raising a hand to press against the ache sharpening at the base of his skull, he winced when his fingers came back covered in blood. His mouth fell open in surprise at the sight and at the memories that came washing through his mind. _I came here… I know I brought Aria with me, but then I was going to leave… and now I wake up on the floor. My God! He must have hit me and taken the child._

Fighting to get to his feet despite the protest of his rolling stomach, the priest crawled to a nearby pillar and pulled himself upright. _I have been such a fool. I trusted him to be a good person because he once helped me. He used that trust… used my love for my sister in order to slowly lead me down his path of deception… What evil have I stumbled into? What evil did I almost willingly deliver that poor child into? I have to get her back… May I burn in hell forever if I don't! _Sweating heavily, Father Thomas stumbled to the wall, using its support as he made his way out of the cramped backstage room. _I have to get her back… _

Moving almost blindly out into the hall, he blinked blurredly at his now unfamiliar surroundings. He had never tried to traverse the Opera House without his glasses before. Disoriented and in pain, Father Thomas hesitated slightly before pushing himself onward. His purpose was clear, his will resolute. So through his blindness, through the skull-splitting agony beating incessantly into his head, he forced himself to push away from the wall and begin to run. Tripping over loose floorboards and old set pieces he ran. _I have to get her back… have to make it right._

Rounding a corner, Father Thomas ran smack into two people running the opposite direction. Falling heavily to the floor he gasped at the jarring of his head, bolts of searing agony nearly causing him to lose consciousness. "Father, you scared me…" he heard someone say distantly. Lying perfectly still on the ground, he couldn't quite find his voice to reply.

"Oh my God, what happened to you!" the voice suddenly gasped after noticing his disheveled state.

Opening his eyes he was able to just make out two female silhouettes, one with pale hair and one with dark, bending over him. Thinking he recognized the girl who spoke as Meg Giry, Father Thomas felt a slight shimmer of relief ease through him. _Meg and Brielle are friends… surely she can help. _"Mademoiselle Giry, listen very carefully. Something terrible has happened." He could see Meg looking away in impatient distraction, so he hurried on before she could leave. "Andrew Donovan is in this building and he has taken Aria! You have to go and tell Brielle before it is too late."

"What?" Meg stammered in horror. "He has her too!"

Confused, Father Thomas squinted at her, trying to read her blurry expression. "What do you mean 'he has her too'?"

"I think he has Brielle as well. I saw a wicked-looking man fighting with her earlier. Carlotta and I were just on our way to help her… but now you say he already has Aria! How in the world did that happen?"

A razor-edged blade of guilt buried itself into his heart at the reminder of what he had done. Finding it suddenly hard to breathe, he felt his eyes begin to fill with agonized tears of remorse. "It is my fault that he has the child," he admitted brokenly, his conscience demanding the confession. "He has been my family's benefactor for many years, and so when he asked me to help him I foolishly did. It was not until today that I realized his true character and refused to allow him to take Aria. But I wasn't able to put up much of a fight. He hit me over the back of the head… I fear he has gone completely mad! I was just on my way to getting Aria back when I ran into you."

His admission was met with a stony silence that left him chilled. The dark-haired woman took a step forward with a blistering curse. "You are an idiot!" Carlotta shouted, putting her operatic vocal chords to full use.

Cringing from the blast of sound, and the rhythmic pounding that followed in his head, Father Thomas lowered his eyes to the ground in shame. "Yes…"

Reaching out to jerk Carlotta away from where the priest sat upon the floor, Meg tried for some level of calm. "There is no time for that!"

"But from what you tell me of dis Andrew he is a crazy man and dis priest has let him kidnap Brielle's little girl! We should strangle de useless lout!"

"No, there is no time!" Meg insisted. "And besides, you can tell he is telling us the truth. He was deceived and is trying to make up for it now. We need all the help we can get."

Calming slightly at Meg's reasoning, the diva shot Father Thomas one last chilly gaze. "You are lucky den… tonight we are using everyone's help. No matter who dey are."

Reaching out a hand, Meg grabbed hold of one of Father Thomas's arms. "Come on, then. Try to stand."

Gaining his feet by sheer force of will, the pale-faced priest ignored the rebellious rolling in his stomach. "What are we going to do now? Do you know where to find them?"

Meg's tawny eyes narrowed ever so slightly in thought, her expression uncharacteristically calculating and hard. "No, but I know one man who will no doubt soon know that information. All we have to do is gather some help and spread out. Then when he finds them we can take over."

Nodding her head in agreement, but with a great deal more nervousness, Carlotta crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, and den we call the police so dey can take the man away. Just like you told me before, Giry, on de way over here… He has to go to jail."

Perplexed that these ladies were speaking of both using a man's help and then jailing him, Father Thomas winced and raised a hand to the bump at the back of his head. "Who is this man?"

"The Phantom of the Opera…" Meg replied casually as she set off down the hallway with a determined gait.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Careening through the relative quiet of the backstage, Brielle hiked her skirts up past her knees, the rhythmic pounding of her footsteps and the rasp of her labored breathing echoing overly loud against the vaulted ceilings. Cursing the elaborate skirts of the gown she had only an hour ago praised, she dared to toss a quick look over her shoulder, searching for pursuers. Seeing nothing but looming shadows behind her, she purposely slowed her pace.

Her beleaguered heart practically burst at the seams with fear as she waited for either Andrew or Beaumont to show their faces. On the edge of panic, Brielle fought the urge to continue her flight. If she ran now, and lost them quickly, they may return to where Conner still lay helpless. Despite the horror of another impending capture, she would not allow Conner to be murdered. Even though he was seriously hurt and bleeding, at least he had a chance of getting medical attention now.

Starting at a sound, Brielle jumped back into motion, running haphazardly down another hallway without any clear idea where she was going. In her initial panicked flight, she hadn't had the sense to map where she was and was now completely lost. Her hope of actually escaping began to diminish with each step she took, only becoming further lost in the twisting corridors of the back halls. With a despairing sob, she dodged around some old Romanesque columns. _I cannot run much longer. Soon they are going to find me… I have to let them find me… it is the only way to know where they have hidden Aria. _

Losing herself in the forest of plaster pillars, she crouched down low, hoping the white of her dress would blend in with the white of the set pieces and give her a few moments to think. Wrapping her arms around the nearest column to anchor the whirlwind of her mind, she leaned a burning cheek against the cool faux marble. _I will not cry… I will not cry…_

_Erik where are you?_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Choking back on a moan, Conner lay in the darkness, too weak to shift himself into a more comfortable position, only the chaotic mixture of anger and fear working to keep him awake now. Furious with himself, he realized that in the end Brielle had done all the rescuing and not the other way around. Cursing bitterly, he tried to blink away the cobwebs pulling over his vision. _Do not pass out… For the love of God do not pass out…_

Through the haze of his own self loathing the distant sound of approaching footsteps reached him. Thinking that either Beaumont or Andrew had decided to come back and finish him off, Conner gathered what strength he had left and dragged himself toward where his gun still lay several feet away. Managing to grab hold of it awkwardly, juggling it between his heel-crushed fingers and his half useless left arm, Conner was able to level it toward where the sound was coming from. Tightening his finger against the trigger, he very nearly had a heart attack when Meg came careening around the corner with Carlotta and Father Thomas on her heels.

Lowering the gun with a relieved breath, the redhead felt a wave of powerful fatigue pulling his eyelids shut. There was a distant gasp and a rush of feet before Conner was able to force his eyes to open again. He watched all expression bleed out of Meg's face as she gaped across the room at him. Trying to shift his body to cover the dark smears of blood marring the floor, Conner grimaced silently. _God… it had to be her to come, didn't it? And see me in this bloody mess… please don't let her cry… please don't let her…_

Rushing across the room with a choked scream, Meg skidded to a halt next to him. Her eyes went round with horror as she hurriedly surveyed his poor condition. Conner's worst fear played itself out as two fat tears splashed down her beautiful face. Weakly waving a bloody hand, the Irishman attempted to calm her. "Don't be doing that, lass. I look worse than I feel," he lied.

Dropping to the floor next to him, panic flickering brightly over her features, Meg reached out to touch him, drawing her hands hastily back when he grimaced in pain. "You have been shot!"

"Yes, I am aware of that."

"Do not try to be funny now!" she cried, hysteria edging into her voice. "Who did this to you?" Before Conner could answer Meg filled in the blanks for him. "Andrew Donovan did this, didn't he? I knew it was a bad idea for you to go by yourself. You should have waited for help, you stupid man!"

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Conner reached out and gingerly took Meg's hand in his. "They have Bri… and they said they have Aria too," he said gravely, determined to impart what information he could while he still had his wits about him. "I do not know how long ago they left… Brielle ran off… leading them away… I have sort of been in and out since then… but maybe that was twenty minutes ago… you can still catch them if you try."

Looking over her shoulder at Carlotta and Father Thomas, Meg squeezed his hand gently. "Do either of you know anything about doctoring? He is getting worse!"

Shaking her head, Carlotta held a hand over her mouth, looking ready to faint at any moment, her eyes morbidly glued to the blood on the floor. "No, I know noting. What do we do?"

His face ashen, Father Thomas took a step forward. With one hand pressed to the back of his head, he carefully lowered to his knees, squinting at Conner with unfocused eyes. "When I was younger I had some experience with gun wounds," the priest said somberly, bad memories darkening his expression. After a moment of tense silence, Father Thomas let out a long breath. "From what I can tell there is good news."

"What!"

"He is still alive, which means that the bullet must have missed his heart and lungs. If it hadn't, he would have been dead by now." Meg went deathly white at the news.

Leaning forward, Father Thomas unbuttoned Conner's jacket and tore open the redhead's shirt, exposing the deceptively small wound underneath. "The bleeding has mostly stopped by now… that is good…and it seems the bullet went all the way through… also good. He needs a doctor though… he has lost a lot of blood."

More tears tracked down Meg's face as she listened to the priest's crude diagnosis. Hating the sight of her grief, Conner raised their clasped hands to his lips. "Come now lass… what have you got to be crying about?"

"I do not want you to die," she whispered brokenly.

"Ack now, no one is going to die. Besides… I would think you would be happy today."

Sniffing, Meg glared at him through her tears. "Have you lost your mind? Why would I be happy?"

Fighting off the fog wrapping around his mind, Conner managed to flash a brilliant grin. "Because today is the day I ask you to be my wife, lass."

Shocked into stillness, Meg gaped down at him with her mouth hanging open. "W-What?"

"Marry me?" he repeated slowly, as if speaking to an unruly child.

"Do not tease me now, Conner! This is no time to be joking around. Everything is falling apart all around us! Brielle and Aria are who knows where… you are shot! Crazy men are running around with guns!"

Moaning deliberately now, Conner closed his eyes. "Oh, I am feeling faint… I do not know how much longer I can stay awake."

A flash of panic stiffened Meg's expression and her grip upon his hand tightened. "Shh, stop talking. Save your strength!"

"Marry me, say you will, Meg…"

"All right… all right…" she conceded hastily. "If I say yes will you lay back and rest?"

Feeling strangely lighter, stronger, Conner turned his attention to Father Thomas. "You heard her say yes, Father. If she tries to take it back later you can make her stick to her word."

Looking baffled, Father Thomas got stiffly to his feet. "Yes, my son… of course?"

"He is not as sick as I thought before…" Carlotta mumbled under her breath.

Seeing Meg's eyes narrowing down at him, Conner cleared his throat. "Well, now that that is taken care of, I feel a great deal better. So I think it is time to get back to more serious business."

Still studying him carefully, Meg nodded, allowing the conversation to be led back to the trouble at hand, for now. "I am going to stay here with Conner. Father Thomas, do you think you can go and get a doctor?"

"Yes, I will go as quickly as I can."

"Who will go to tell everyone about dat Andrew man den? Dere is no one left." Carlotta asked with a frown.

Without missing a beat, Meg fixed the older woman with a stern expression. "You will have to do it, Carlotta. I cannot leave Conner right now… And Father Thomas would not be able to see Andrew in order to hide from him. You are the only one who can. You are going to have to get help for Brielle."

"No… no I cannot do dat! Not on my own," the diva gasped, looking back and forth between Father Thomas and Meg. "I need someone to come wit me… I am… I am not brave like you… I cannot do it."

"You are the only one left. You have to."

Making a frightened high-pitched sound in the back of her throat, Carlotta wrung her hands in front of her. It was obvious to everyone in the room that what Meg said was true, it was the only way, but it was also obvious that Carlotta wanted nothing to do with the new plan. Muttering to herself in Italian, the diva paced back and forth across the floor. "I can say no… I can say no… I do not have to risk my life."

"Brielle is your friend," Meg reminded the panicking woman. "It is the only way to save everyone."

Shaking slightly, Carlotta nodded. "Yes, she was nice to me… when everyone else was mean. She is my friend." Her shoulders slumping, Carlotta stared at the ground for several moments, then, taking a breath, she raised her chin with all her usual arrogance, gathering her ego about her to buffer against the fear. "Fine," she snapped. "I will be de one to do it. But I get dat gun on the floor." Without waiting for permission, the diva bent and snatched Conner's pistol off the floor. "And don't tink I was scared to do it because I wasn't. I just don't like you bossing me, Giry. I will go now."

"Remember what I told you before. That you should go and get…"

Cutting her off dramatically, Carlotta sniffed at Meg's reminder. "I remember everyting of de plan. I go and get de help and den we find Brielle and de child. I can do it… and I will do it much better dan any of you could!" With that parting shot, Carlotta swept off, leaving everyone else behind to fend for themselves.

Watching her go, Conner couldn't help but notice that the further away the diva got from them the less sure her steps became. "I think you should go with her, Meg. Is it really wise to rely only on her?"

As Father Thomas gave a farewell wave and stumbled off to go and rouse the Opera's in-house doctor, Meg pursed her lips into a frown. "I am not leaving you unprotected while the Father is getting the doctor. She can do it. She will have to."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Moving silently through the darkness he had spent most of his life navigating, Erik made no effort to rein in the rage ripping through his entire body. The cleansing white hot heat of the fury burned away every superfluous thought and worry, leaving behind cool reason and calculation. He could think clearly, wrapped as he was in the protection of this one burning emotion. He thought as the Phantom would, for it was the Phantom, not Erik, who was the dark ruler of this underground kingdom. It was the Phantom who had the power to face down two armed men and come out the victor.

Racing up yet another flight of hidden stairs, Erik barely felt the hard stone under his feet, his blood bubbling with so much adrenaline he felt as if he could fly. Returning from a record-breaking dash to the lower cellars, he absently checked the deadly length of cured leather hidden up his sleeve, comforted by the all-too-familiar weight of the unusual weapon. He had not carried the Punjab lasso in over a year, and yet he knew with a certainty that should have concerned him, that killing with it would be terrifyingly easy. No, not just easy, killing Andrew would be a pleasure.

Since the night Brielle had awoken from her prophetic nightmare, he had been planning for this moment, hoping all the while that he would never need to implement any of it, never need to return to the dark places in his mind where the Phantom lurked. Thinking of Brielle now, of his regrets, tiny puncture holes poked through the blanketing fog of his anger. _Andrew might not hurt her… but if she fights him I do not think his control will hold. It took me twenty minutes to run downstairs and back… if things went badly… if Conner did not stop them… he could have killed her by now. _

Shaking his head to clear it of the icy spikes of fear stabbing through him, Erik slowed his pace as he came closer to the upper floors. _Do not think of Brielle right now… she is fine… She is smart. She can outwit him… She is strong. She can fight him… Do not think of her being hurt right now. Think of the plan. _

Calmed once again with thoughts of violence, Erik mentally checked off everything he had done in the last twenty minutes. Both on the way down to his subterranean chambers and back up to the surface, he had quickly reengaged every torture device within the cellars. The water trap was set, the deadly room of mirrors was slowly heating up to maddening levels, and every lasso, every small explosive device was poised for a passing victim. He was ready to commit murder.

Flipping up the hood of his cape to disguise the telltale white of the half-mask he once again wore, Erik slipped out of a secret door and into the world above. _Step one… find Andrew and the man he brought with him._ Stalking along the ground floor of the backstage, he tuned his senses to his surroundings, cataloging every sound, every sight for signs of a disturbance. Searching for the one clue that would tell him where the intruders had been, and more importantly, where they were going.

It took seconds for his finely tuned ears to pick up on the almost imperceptible sound of hurried uneven footsteps. Zeroing in upon the noise, Erik melted backward into the shadows. Moving with a predatory stealth, he glided through the murky half light until he was feet away from the as yet unidentified person, safely hidden behind a discarded dressing screen. Holding his breath he waited for the man to pass him by, watching the limping figure with murderous intent. He recognized the man almost instantly. It was Andrew who now stood mere feet away from him. It was obvious from his awkward gait and the blood on his face that he was already injured. And he was alone. _Perfect…_

As if feeling Erik's eyes upon him, Andrew stopped in mid-limp and drew a gun out of his coat pocket. Turning in a slow, wary circle, the lord surveyed his surroundings. "Brielle…" he coaxed. "Come on out now. Do not worry… I forgive you for lashing out. I understand you are frightened. Come out now and I promise I will not be angry with you."

Erik was on the verge of stepping out to meet the man, his lips peeling back from his teeth as the anger within him was replaced with black, roiling hatred, when a tiny voice of caution spoke within his head. _Wait a moment before striking… think… where is the other man?_ As if on cue, a stranger rounded a nearby corner and strode purposefully toward Andrew, his unremarkable features unable to hide the slow rolling gait of a killer.

Lowering his gun with an irritated sigh, Andrew relaxed. "Beaumont, where the hell have you been?"

"Forgive me, my lord," the Frenchman replied, without any real regret tainting his voice. "Your limp slows you down and I lost track of you while I was trying to find the woman."

"And did you find her?"

"No, unfortunately she must know the layout better than us, for she has found herself a good hiding place and has gone to ground. The good news is that I know a way to draw her out again, but I must be quick about it. Do I have your permission to leave you here for a few minutes?" Beaumont asked with sarcastic civility.

"Yes, that will be fine. I have my gun… there is no need to worry."

"Very good, sir." Turning quickly, Beaumont strolled off down the hallway, once again leaving Andrew alone.

Erik allowed a few minutes to pass, insuring that the Frenchman was indeed gone, before he eased backward and slipped behind a tall stack of prop boxes. Raising a hand to cup around his mouth, the masked man allowed a mean smile to flicker across his face. He was about to have a great deal of fun. Projecting his voice so that it appeared to originate out of thin air in the middle of the room, Erik let out a burst of maniacal laughter, startling Andrew so badly that the man practically jumped out of his boots.

The seemingly inhuman laughter continued as Andrew whirled around and fired off two panicked shots in the direction he thought the sound was coming. Erik allowed his voice to taper off into a high-itched howl but he was far from done with the now terrified English lord. Andrew would suffer before he died. Drawing two small bags out of his jacket's inner pocket, Erik casually heaved the small missiles over the stack of boxes. Landing at Andrew's feet, the bags instantly exploded with two deafening booms and blinding flashes of light.

Stumbling backward with a shriek, Andrew tripped over a coil of rope and fell to the floor. "Stop it, John! You are dead. I will not allow you to stop me!"

Pausing with two more bags in his hands, Erik frowned. _Does he actually think that his dead brother is doing this? The man must have truly gone mad._ Emboldened by this revelation, the masked man raised his hand to his mouth again. Dipping his voice into a low rasp, he did his best to impersonate the same cultured English that he had heard Andrew use many times.

"Brother… your deeds will no longer be tolerated… you will not leave this place alive. Look well upon your surroundings, for this shall be your tomb!"

Bleaching deathly white, Andrew climbed shakily to his feet, terror glinting in the darkness of his eyes. Waving his gun in the air before him, the young lord slowly backed his way towards one of the connecting corridors. "What can a ghost do to the living?" he called in a thin showing of bravado.

Laughing again in a loud blooming cackle, Erik changed positions to where a pile of empty barrels was tied against the wall. Casually placing his foot against a supporting wooden pin, Erik gave the thing a firm kick. Springing free of its stay, the pin shot out, jarring the entire mountain into motion. Tumbling to the floor with a roar, the barrels bounced wildly across the floor, crashing into set pieces with disastrous effect and bursting apart when they struck the wall.

Gaping at the supposedly supernatural effect, Andrew whirled upon his heel and sprinted off down the hallway. Smirking grimly, Erik quickly followed. Hounding the young lord from the shadows, the masked man managed to scare two more bullets out of Andrew's gun. Reveling in the other man's tortured panic, Erik steered his prey down a very specific path.

Running obediently according to Erik's silent plan, Andrew soon found himself plastered flat against a dead end. "John… John… by all that is Holy, cease this torment! I am your brother!" Andrew pleaded, his eyes darting for an escape route.

Stepping casually out of concealment, Erik allowed Andrew a glimpse of his shadowed form, wanting very much for the other man to know who it really was who held his life in his hands. Pulling the hood away from his face, Erik met Andrew's bewildered expression with black disdain. Just as understanding and rage flickered across Andrew's handsome features, Erik turned and pulled a wall sconce downward. Behind the wall a series of levers and pulleys jolted into action, swinging open the trapdoor right under Andrew's feet without a sound. With a garbled scream the young lord fell out of sight and into the torture chamber beneath.

Pushing the wall sconce back into place, Erik watched the trapdoor reseal itself. He had led Andrew to a small octagonally shaped room lined entirely with mirrors. The genius design allowed for maximum heat conduction without offering any sort of ventilation. The air within could reach temperatures exceeding one hundred and twenty degrees, killing the occupant within slowly and painfully. Turning, he unhurriedly walked back down the hallway and on to his next victim.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Afraid to move from her hiding place, Brielle had remained firmly ensconced among the tall set pieces. She was terrified of what lay ahead of her, for she knew that in order to find her daughter, she had to face the very man who had so easily murdered his own brother, her husband, all those years ago, and who had kept her captive within his house months ago. Working up the courage to do so was taking longer than she had hoped. _All right… you have to move sometime. This is not just about you. He can make off with Aria and you may never see her again. MOVE!_

Climbing to her feet, Brielle nearly jumped out of her skin when a series of gunshots echoed down the hallway. Frozen in mid-action, she turned her head toward the sound, her stomach tying itself up into terrified knots as she listened to the silence that followed. _Please Lord… please do not allow anyone else I love be hurt. _

Forcing herself back into motion, Brielle paused again when the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears. Ducking down, she hid herself as the figure of a man dragging a burlap sack rounded a nearby corner. Recognizing the face of the killer whom Andrew had hired, Brielle held her breath to keep herself from giving away her position. _Keep walking… do not see me… just keep walking. _As Beaumont passed by her, Brielle noticed something rather odd about the bag he was roughly dragging behind him. The bag bucked and ripped in movements separate from the motions caused by the Frenchman's handling. With a gasp Brielle realized that there was something alive within the confines of that sack.

Stopping in the middle of the room, Beaumont tilted his head to the side with a smile. Turning slowly, he glanced about the room with predatory eyes. Though Brielle was sure he didn't see her yet he most surely had heard the noise she had just made. "We meet again, Madame. I would like to take a moment to invite you to come out of hiding in a civilized manner." Pausing there, Beaumont waited a beat before continuing. "Fine. Then I will use other means to get you out."

Bending over to reach for the bag at his feet, Beaumont did not see the shadowed figures moving above his head on the balconied floor above them. Before he could open the bag's drawstrings, a sandbag seemingly loosed itself, dropping down with lightning speed to strike him in the back. Falling to the ground with a surprised grunt, the assassin was momentarily stunned into stillness. Leaping down from the story above, two stony-faced stagehands fell upon Beaumont with their fists, punching him mercilessly wherever they could reach him. Fighting back with the practiced ferocity of a trained killer, Beaumont knocked one man backward with a well placed kick to the head. Seeing his partner's blood splattering onto the floor the uninjured man let out an ear-splitting shout for help.

A loud shout issued from down the hall in a guttural battle cry in response to the cry, heralding the arrival of a small crowd of people led, strangely enough, by Carlotta and Madame Giry. Two more men, one Brielle recognized as James Turner, entered the battle with Beaumont, trying to tackle the Frenchman into submission. Standing on the sidelines, Carlotta jumped up and down, pumping her fists in the air and shouting encouragement. Watching the scene next to the diva, Madame Giry merely stood sedately as the stagehands worked to best Beaumont. Quickly losing patience, the older woman frowned as Beaumont was able to severely bloody two more men. Carrying her usual hefty cane, the dance mistress finally waded into the chaos surrounding Beaumont and managed to crack the Frenchman over the head with a deft swing. Stilling on the floor, the assassin didn't put up a fight as several more punches pounded into his flesh.

"All right… all right. Don't kill him yet!" Madame Giry commanded, poking the two now bloodied stagehands with her cane. "He is to go to the police, along with the Donovan fellow as soon as we find him. Good job everyone!" A cheer went up at her words and the men all took a step back from the man lying on the floor.

Clapping her hands, her cheeks stained a bright red, Carlotta strode forward excitedly. "Very good! When he wakes up we can question him." Bestowing all the bruised and sweaty men around her with a charming smile, Carlotta came to stand next to Madame Giry. "Tank you all for helping! You are all heroes!" Her eyes lingering on Mr. Turner a bit longer than the rest, Carlotta's smile turned into an appreciative perusal.

"You were very brave Monsieur Turner," she said, her expression brighter than anything Brielle had ever seen before.

Looking as if he didn't know what to say to that, the tenor ducked his head and rubbed at the bruise now darkening his cheek. "How could I do anything else? It is my pleasure to help a beautiful woman in need."

Rolling her eyes, Madame Giry fixed both singers with a withering glance. "There is no time for your silliness. This is serious business. Carlotta, you said there were two men we needed to find. So we must be on the lookout for the other one. We were lucky to hear those gunshots… otherwise we would still be on the other side of the theater. Obviously it was not this man doing the shooting since he does not have a gun… so we must assume that it was the other one." Pointing at the two men who had rappelled down from the floor above to take Beaumont by surprise, Madame Giry ordered them to go off and tell the other lookouts that one man was captured.

As the two young men ran off to do her bidding, the dance mistress moved to a pile of rope. "Do you think this will work in tying this scoundrel up?"

Seeing that she would be safe at last, Brielle stood from her hiding place and moved out from behind the columns on shaky legs. _Thank God! Thank God! _Turner and the one remaining stagehand turned toward her, ready for another fight, but as soon as they recognized her they relaxed and smiled. Barely able to walk under the weight of her relief, Brielle leaned against the wall weakly, tears of happiness filling her eyes.

Spotting her, Carlotta let out a loud gasp and rushed to her side. "You are all right! We have been so worried and have been looking everywhere!" Spreading her arms wide, the diva captured Brielle in an enthusiastic hug.

Finding herself wrapped in Carlotta's excited embrace, Brielle clung to the older woman, needing a moment to prove to herself that this wasn't a dream, that she really was saved. "Conner… my brother… he was hurt…" she managed to mumble around the lump gathering in her throat.

Pulling back, Carlotta nodded. "Oh, he should be fine. De priest went to get a doctor…" Tilting her chin up proudly, she paused dramatically. "But I was sent on my own to get help for you! So when you see Meg you tell her how good I did, yes! I thought dat at any moment de Phantom was sure to kill me but I did it anyway!"

At Carlotta's last words Brielle's smile slowly faded from her face. "The Phantom?"

"Yes… I saw him," she replied, a note of bitterness entering her tone. Frowning, Carlotta looked at Brielle searchingly and lowered her voice. "And I want to know why Meg says he might help you… how do you know him?"

Not knowing how to reply, Brielle lowered her eyes to the ground. _Erik killed the lead tenor last year… the man that I know Carlotta loved. What can I say to her? _Distracted from her musings, she saw a slight movement out of the corner of her vision. Turning her head in time to see Beaumont slide a small knife out of his pocket, Brielle's mouth fell open in shock. _No…no… he was only pretending to be unconscious!_ Opening her mouth to scream a warning, she watched as the Frenchman plunged the blade into the leg of the young man standing nearest to him. Jumping to his feet without any indication he was injured, Beaumont dashed toward where he had dropped the bag he had been carrying. Snatching the sack up before anyone could stop him, the assassin raced across the room toward Brielle, one hand tucked in the inner pocket of his coat.

Reaching Carlotta and Brielle within seconds, he viciously knocked the diva to the side when she leveled a small pistol at him. Too stunned to hardly move, Brielle raised her hands to defend herself, hearing Madame Giry call for help as if through a fog. Easily evading her pitiful attempt at self-defense, Beaumont quickly dropped the bag at their feet and wrapped his arm around her throat in a stranglehold. Facing Madame Giry and the wave of reinforcements racing down the hall to help, Beaumont calmly surveyed the scene from behind the shield of Brielle's body.

"You will all stay where you are," he commanded, tightening his arm around Brielle's neck until she was gasping for air. "Or I will break this lady's neck. It would be easy to do… like snapping a twig in two. So now you will all allow me to leave."

Everyone froze at his words. Scrambling backward, Carlotta got to her feet and stumbled towards where Madame Giry stood. Crossing her arms over her chest, the dance mistress never took her eyes off of Beaumont. "There is no escape for you. We have already called the police. They may already be here… no one will be able to get past them. And we will not let you leave."

His features transforming into something unnamable and vile, Beaumont turned his face and planted a tender kiss against Brielle's cheek, once again tightening his hold as he did so. Completely out of air now, Brielle clawed at the iron grip at her throat. "Do not think I am bluffing. Her life would be nothing to me but collateral damage." When no one moved out of his way, he merely shrugged and kicked the bag at his feet. A high pitiful wail of a small child issued from the rough cloth sack. "Will you be so brave if I get the child out and slit her throat? Get out of my way."

Rolling her eyes downward in horror, Brielle looked at the sack at her side. _Aria is in there? He put her in there? God in Heaven…_ Beginning to feel faint, Brielle thought she was seeing things when a shadow appeared against the far wall, materializing into the shape of a man as if by magic. No one else in the room seemed to notice this strange occurrence, but they all felt a distinct jolt of electrifying intensity shoot through the air. With a tingle of awareness Brielle knew Erik was nearby.

"Your employer has already been dealt with. Let the woman and the child go and I will grant you the mercy of a quick death," a disembodied voice whispered coldly through the air. Pausing ever so slightly over the words 'woman and child' as if they were difficult to say.

Cursing against her ear, Beaumont loosened his hold around her neck, allowing her several wonderful gulps of air. "I was warned about you, sir. But do not think you can frighten me with your trickery. I know you are just a clever man."

"Then you are a fool…" the voice snapped back, causing Carlotta to nearly turn green where she stood next to Madame Giry.

"No, sir… I think it is you who are the fool," Beaumont laughed, finally bringing the hand he had kept in his coat pocket out into the open.

Clutched within his fist the Frenchman held a small pipe-like object with a fuse hanging out the top. Releasing Brielle, he brought out a match and lit the stick of dynamite with an almost casual air. Tossing the now lit explosive into the middle of the expansive room, the madman continued to laugh as he watched everyone freeze in shock, then dive for cover. A moment passed as if in slow motion, then the backstage was rocked by an earth-shattering explosion. Blinding light and burning fire shot out in all directions, scattering set pieces and people indiscriminately.

Protected from the brunt of the explosion by distance and some boxes, Brielle fell to the floor and wrapped her body around the bag that Beaumont had put Aria in. When the burning white light finally faded and the smell of smoke filled her nose, Brielle opened her eyes to a world on fire. Everything was burning around the small smoldering hole in the middle of the room.

Unable to hear anything over the buzzing in her ears, Brielle stared blankly at the flames. _They are dead… did I just watch everyone die?_ she thought hysterically. Sitting up, she turned to the wriggling bag next to her and numbly began working at the knot holding it closed. _They are dead…dead… They are all dead_…

A hand painfully clamped onto her shoulder then, dragging her to her feet. His face streaked with dirt Beaumont picked up the sack holding Aria and threw it over his shoulder, never once letting go of Brielle. "I told them to let me pass didn't I?" he asked no one in particular. "But no one ever seems to listen… I love that."

Turning in his hold Brielle pulled back a fist to slam into his smug mouth, rage over his callousness giving her the strength to act. Expecting the move Beaumont moved away from her and then brought his hand across her face, knocking her to the ground with the force of the blow. Standing over her, the flames at his back giving him a demonic air, Beaumont sneered down at her. "Never raise your hand to me again woman or I will make you watch me saw off your child's head."

Tasting blood in her mouth she stared up at him, recognizing the truth in his words in a moment of horrified clarity. All the fight drained out of her body as he bent and dragged her to her feet again. Walking along ahead of him obediently, Brielle allowed herself to be led from the room. Her mind remaining blessedly blank as Beaumont pushed her onward. Brielle hardly noticed when they came to a stop at the head of a dead-ended hallway. Distantly she heard the muffled sound of a gunshot, but couldn't bring herself to care. _They must be dead… I didn't see anyone moving. And Erik… Erik… It is all over now…_

Heading toward the sound, Beaumont forced her down the hallway, his dark eyes scanning the floor in confusion. "There must be a trapdoor… that fellow did mention he had Lord Donovan captured… how lucky would it be if we just found him?"

Making a quick circuit of the area, Beaumont finally began pushing against the stones in the wall, and then moved to pulling on the nearby wall sconces. Finally finding a sconce that moved, the Frenchman grunted in pleasure when a door opened up in the floor. Walking to the edge of the trapdoor, Beaumont gazed down into the void below.

"Why, hello there, my lord. What trouble have you gotten yourself into?" Turning to look around at his surroundings, Beaumont retrieved a length of rope that was lying on the floor. Lowering it into the hole, he waited a few moments, then went to work pulling Andrew out of the trap.

Drenched clean through with sweat, Andrew appeared at the lip of the trapdoor, the rope tied securely around his chest. Limply allowing himself to be dragged out, the young lord lay gasping on the floor for several minutes. "That bastard… he really does have torture chambers… I was certain I would die…"

Eyeing his employer with interest, Beaumont reached down to help Andrew to his feet. "Good thing I happened to hear those gunshots… or I never would have gotten the second half of my money."

Shooting Beaumont a stony glare, Andrew shrugged off the assassin's helping hands. "Yes, and your concern for my safety is touching. I…" Cutting off in mid-sentence, Andrew finally caught sight of where Brielle sat mutely in one corner. The angry tension in his features relaxed as he slowly made his way to her side. "Brielle… you are safe, thank God…"

Staring straight ahead without saying anything, Brielle didn't give any outward reaction to his words. _They are dead… all of them… because they tried to save me…_

Sighing heavily, Andrew turned to look at Beaumont. "I think it is about time we leave this place. Help her to her feet and we will go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kicking a burning plank of wood off of himself, Erik felt a trickle of blood or sweat run down his cheek. Narrowing his eyes against the light of the flames around him, he marveled for a moment that he was still alive. _Brielle…_ Sitting up straighter despite the aches in his body, the masked man quickly looked about the room but didn't see any sign of her or Beaumont. _He must have already taken her._

Climbing slowly to his feet, Erik quickly became aware of other movements around the room. Madame Giry was rubbing the base of her back not far from him, James Turner was helping Carlotta to her feet, and an assortment of stagehands were slowly trying to regain their wits. It was a miracle but apparently everyone had survived the explosion. Relieved for that one blessing despite the overall gravity of the situation, Erik leaned against a nearby wall for support.

_Brielle… Aria… you have to save them…_ Straightening, Erik walked shakily out into the room, unmindful for once in his life, that everyone could clearly see him; he was in too much of a hurry. Nearing the closest door, the urgency to find Brielle growing with his every step, Erik ignored the pain threatening to slow him down. _Brielle… you have to save them…_

"Wait! You wait!" a voice outside his inner monolog shouted. Turning his head slowly at the distraction, Erik was met with the sight of a Carlotta aiming a gun at his chest. Without any sign of her usual dramatics, the diva kept a steady bead upon him, clearly set upon killing him should he move. Stilling, he raised both hands up in a sign of surrender.

_Kill her… you don't have time for this… kill her…_ a dark voice chanted impatiently in the back of his head. As he watched, Madame Giry tried to take the gun from the diva.

"No, we wait for the police. Dis is the Phantom… and he will pay for de crimes he committed against us!" the Italian woman shouted, her dark eyes cold and fixed on him the whole time. "He killed Piangi… he killed de man I loved. It is right he should hang! I want my revenge!"

_Kill her… kill her!_ the voice whispered more urgently. Feeling a wash of violence pumping quickly through his system, Erik tensed. _Kill her…_ his breathing coming quicker he was on the verge of leaping forward when another, gentler, voice shivered through his mind. _Stop that, boyo… _lilted Brielle's unmistakable accent. Catching and holding his breath, all thoughts of murder came to a crashing halt.

Relaxing his battle stance, Erik felt his expression soften. "I am guilty of the crimes you say. I know that when I die, I will surely burn in hell forever for them, and so I will not try to deny your charges. You do deserve your revenge… But still… you must let me go."

Growing red in the face, Carlotta shook her head. "And why must I!"

"Because I am the only one who can save Brielle now… They have had enough time to escape the Opera house. You must let me go before they get any further ahead," he stated simply, every fiber of his being praying that she would do as he asked.

Clenching her mouth into a tight line, Carlotta's eyes blazed brighter with selfish fury, causing most of Erik's hope to begin to fade. Moments ticked by and she did not lower the gun. Turning his eyes to heaven, Erik silently did something he had not done in a long time; he prayed to God. _Please… please make her let me go._

Ever so slowly, Carlotta allowed her weapon to tilt toward the ground, the fire dwindling in her gaze. "I will never forgive you for what you did…" she snapped. "Know dat…" Lowering the gun further, she gestured for him to leave. "But you must hurry to catch dem… if you fail I will never forgive you for dat either."

Nodding silently, Erik turned and swept out the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sitting mutely in the carriage Andrew had stuffed her into, Brielle stared sightlessly out the window, holding Aria tightly in her lap. Tears of grief rolled unnoticed down her cheeks as she thought of all the pain caused that night. _Conner was shot… Carlotta… Madame Giry… all those men… they may have been blown up… and Erik…_ Stopping herself before she could fully contemplate his death, Brielle reached up and scrubbed at her face, but her ruthless control could was not quick enough to stop the sorrow settling into her bones. Her expression breaking, Brielle shook her head. _No, I should think about it! It is my fault… it is my fault…_ Closing her eyes she leaned her head against the side of the carriage, an almost physical pain lancing through her heart, leaving no more room for fear. Looking ahead into the grim future she now envisioned for herself Brielle could practically see the years stretching out before her, years without Erik.

As a moan worked its way up the back of her throat a faint shimmering of warmth began to determinedly fight off the winter blanketing her soul, quieting her sounds of grief. Letting out a shaky breath she frowned at this last remnant of comfort. _God… what have I done to deserve this last cruelty? I can still feel him glowing within me… _

"M-Momma… I am scared…" Aria whispered from her lap, thankfully providing Brielle the distraction she needed to pull herself out of her darkly spiraling thoughts.

Gently stroking a hand over Aria's hair, the Irishwoman choked back a sob. "Don't be frightened, love. God is watching over us…"

"I wish he w-would w-watch a little closer…" the child mumbled as the carriage jerked to a stop.

The door to the coach opened with a snap and Andrew quickly reached in to pull both of them out into the night. "We must hurry. I have a small boat waiting to take us downriver. Once we get clear of the city I will be able to arrange more comfortable passage back to England," he explained as he ushered her toward the open doors of a large warehouse.

Casting a quick glance around, Brielle noted the rows of large darkened buildings on both sides of the small street. Andrew had taken them deep into the vast commercial district surrounding the river. At this late hour there would be no hope of anyone seeing them. This part of the city shut down at sunset.

Dully observing that the warehouse Andrew was leading them towards proudly boasted his family name upon the side Brielle felt the ridiculous urge to laugh. _He owns this bloody building… and most likely the boat we are to get on… How did I think I could ever hide from such a man? _"Whatever you have is fine… I do not care," she found herself saying as she stepped into the waiting building.

Smiling at her answer Andrew nodded. "I am glad you are indulging all this last-minute travel." Ignoring everything he said, Brielle simply looked down at Aria. Resting her cheek against her daughter's hair, she followed the two men deeper into the building. _Be strong Brielle… you have to protect your daughter… if you die of grief, Andrew will be the only one left to raise her… you can't let that come to be._

When they reached the door facing the river, Brielle sensed another warming sensation deep in the pit of her stomach, comforting her and melting the fear clenching about her heart. Blinking in surprise at the feeling she stopped in mid-step. As she stood rooted to the floor the sensation grew, setting the hairs along the back of her neck to standing on end, and a tremor to shake through her stomach. She knew this feeling. It was exactly how she felt every time she was locked in Erik's arms. Sucking in a breath, she forced herself to stare at the ground.

_This isn't real… this isn't… _Feeling an unexplainable urge to look up Brielle allowed her eyes to rise to the mountains of boxes looming up above her. Far off to one side, high atop the stacks of merchandise a shadow silently followed their every movement. Staring now Brielle felt her heart stutter back to life. _He… is … here. Don't look up… don't act like something is different… or they will know. _Lowering her head as if nothing had happened she forced herself to continue walking with Andrew and Beaumont.

Growing restless in her mother's arms, Aria stuck her thumb in her mouth. "Y-You feel him too," the child whispered softly in Gaelic, the very edges of her mouth tilting upward in hope.

Turning towards them at the child's words, both Andrew and Beaumont frowned at her. "What did she say?" Beaumont demanded.

"She just said she hates boats," Brielle lied easily, feeling her wits and spirit slowly returning to her. _He will save us… and if he is here then perhaps the rest are safe too!_ Accepting this, Andrew took hold of her elbow and led her out the door and back into the night air. Breathing in the smells of the river, Brielle surveyed the moderately sized boat docked directly in front of her. _Think Brielle, think. How can you help him!_

A slight sound behind them caused Beaumont to pause in the open doorway. "My lord, get the woman onto the boat quickly…" he said slowly, his eyes searching the darkness inside the building as he hurriedly reached a hand inside his jacket.

Without questioning the man's advice, Andrew quickened his steps, practically dragging Brielle out onto the dock. Looking back over her shoulder, Brielle saw Beaumont pull out another small stick of explosives. Trying to jerk out of Andrew's grasp without dropping her daughter Brielle let out a shriek just as the Frenchman lit the fuse and tossed the bomb back into the warehouse.

A blast of light shook the sliding door out of its rollers, washing the cool night with a heart stopping boom. Standing in silent horror Brielle felt a gust of heated air tearing over her face, bringing with it a choking cloud of smoke and dust. Squinting her eyes Brielle could see flames flickering just inside the blown out doorway. Opening her mouth to shout Erik's name she found herself being jerked to the side as Andrew leapt forward and grabbed hold of her arm. Digging her heels into the ground Brielle tried to slow her forward progress.

Apparently satisfied with the destruction he had wrought Beaumont stepped back from the now burning doorway. Straightening his jacket he smiled through the soot blackening his face. "Sorry about your warehouse, my Lord. But I think it is a…"

The Frenchman drew to a sudden stop when a low howl issued from behind the leaping wall of flames. Whirling about, knife in hand, Beaumont stood with his mouth hanging open in shock as a devilish figure came striding through the swirling curls of smoke and fire. Looking very much like the Devil himself Erik's cloak billowed out around him on the hot waves of air. Catching glimpses of the scene behind her Brielle stumbled when Andrew dragged her further out on the dock, panic now clearly etched across his pale features. He hesitated just shy of leaping into the waiting boat, his eyes transfixed upon Erik's dark shape among the flames.

"God above… he has come for me… come for me straight out of hell itself…" the young lord whispered.

Recovering himself from his initial shock Beaumont raised the knife and threw it through the clouds of smoke toward Erik's shimmering form. Gasping aloud Brielle watched Erik's right shoulder shoot back from the impact of blade meeting flesh. Pausing slightly the masked man reached up and pulled the small knife from his shoulder, letting it drop to the ground, his eyes shining like a demon's through the rolling smoke. Staggering back a step Beaumont reached for the larger blade strapped to his side but before his hand could wrap firmly around the handle Erik raised one arm with a fluid flick of his wrist, a high pitched whistle tearing through the air at his movement. Beaumont stiffened where he stood near the beginning of the dock, then his body crashed to the ground, his head turned at an odd angle as he slipped sideways and fell into the water below.

Staring at where Beaumont had stood in open-mouthed shock, Andrew pushed Brielle onto the waiting boat. "Move it! Go!"

Jumping onto the boat after her, Andrew hurriedly cut all of the moorings with a small axe that was lying next to the railing. Setting Aria on her feet, Brielle quickly looked around for some sort of weapon. She hadn't seen Erik near the Frenchman but she was sure somehow Erik had killed Beaumont. _Killed Beaumont? I am glad… God forgive me, I am glad._

"You are too late, Andrew… There is nothing more you can do. Give up and maybe he will spare your life," she called when her desperate search for a weapon yielded nothing.

Spinning around to stare at her with a wild, trapped look in his eyes, the young lord shook his head. "No… no… I won't let him. I am the older brother. I get to win. I won't let him win again. Not now… not ever again. John won't get the best of me…" he muttered crazily to himself as he took a step towards her, the axe still gripped firmly in his hands.

Confused by his rambling, Brielle took a step back, pushing Aria behind her as Andrew took another step closer, the weapon gleaming at his side. "John? What are you talking about."

Not appearing to hear her now, Andrew raised the axe up higher. "You may kill me, John… but not before I take her with me."

Seeing his intent, Brielle let out a gasp and dodged to the side as he swung the blade at her with deadly intent. "Don't be afraid, Bri… we will go together… be together forever. It won't hurt, I promise… I make sure it doesn't hurt for the ones I love… John didn't feel a thing and neither did Father when I poisoned him…"

Picking up Aria, Brielle let out a shriek as Andrew came towards her again. As the axe swung back a black shape tore itself free from the rest of the night and flung itself into the young lord's side. Grunting, Andrew fell to the deck, his body knocking the one lantern onboard over to crash down the stairs and into the hold. Scrambling backwards, Brielle watched Erik pick himself up and jump atop Andrew with a roar.

Fists and curses flew as the two men grappled violently with one another. Strengthened by the madness flickering over his features, Andrew put up a terrible fight, seemingly not even feeling the blows Erik rained down upon his face. Smiling through the blood covering his face, Andrew raised one clawed hand and ripped the mask from Erik's face with a shout of victory.

Laughing hysterically, Andrew threw the mask to the side. "Still ugly, John… my one regret is that fire merely scarred you and didn't kill you!"

"Shut your mouth!" Erik hissed, smashing his fist into Andrew's face.

Dazed by the blow, the young lord's movements became uncoordinated. "I will just have to kill you again… again…"

Throwing himself back into the fight, Andrew managed to knock Erik off himself for a moment. Looking to Brielle, Erik flung out a hand, desperately gesturing for her to escape as the boat began to slip down current and away from its moorings. "Brielle, jump off. Get as far away as you ca…" Cut off by the burst of flames that suddenly shot out of the hold below them Erik fell to the side, tamping out the smoldering embers that had landed upon his clothing.

Realizing that the lantern must have set everything below on fire, Brielle felt panic prickle through her. Aria didn't know how to swim, and she didn't know if Erik could either. "Erik, we have to get off before the whole thing goes up in flames!"

"I know… jump… I will be right after you!" he called back from the other side of the steadily growing blaze.

Raising on her tiptoes to see better over the fire Brielle could just make out Andrew's form smash into Erik from behind. The quickly weakening deck shuddered under her feet with the force of their bodies hitting it. Stumbling backwards as the boat rocked to the side she saw Erik roll on top of Andrew, both his hands wrapped firmly around the young lord's throat. Loosing sight of the fight as the flames licked ever higher Brielle could hear the gargling sound of Andrew fighting for breath.

Feeling the heat of the fire begin to sting her face Brielle frantically backed up until she ran into the ship's railing. "Erik! The fire! I won't leave without you! Come with me now! Leave him behind before it is too late!"

"I have to kill him, Bri… or he will hunt us for the rest of our lives. I have to kill him to make sure he won't!" Erik shouted back, a change in the wind dampening the flames slightly. As soon as the words left his mouth, Brielle saw a strange look pass over his features.

Hesitating a moment longer with a murderous look down at Andrew, Erik finally uncurled his hands from the young lord's neck. Standing unsteadily he leapt around the flames beginning to lick up between the boards of the deck and left the young lord behind. Reaching her side, he hurriedly wrapped both her and Aria in a fierce embrace, needing to feel the warmth of her body as much as she needed to feel his.

"My God… we are the same, he and I," he whispered against her hair. "Only he never learned to let you go…as I learned to let Christine go."

Not liking what she was hearing, Brielle pulled back worriedly. "You are nothing like him! Don't ever say…" Another rush of heat cut her off before she could continue, slamming into her with enough force to knock her back precariously over the railing.

"Jump!" Erik shouted over the roaring of the flames, panic giving his poor disfigured face an almost absurd animation in the dancing firelight. Without waiting for her to react, he reached out and pushed her overboard. Tumbling back with Aria clasped in her arms, Brielle hit the cold water without a sound.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gasping for breath Andrew opened dazed eyes to stare up at the endless black sky stretching out above him. Rage shuddered through his every pore as he felt the weight of the man choking him lift suddenly off of him. Blinking against the red spots dancing across his vision he fought to sit up, propping his oxygen starved body against a nearby barrel. Looking about at his surroundings he could see nothing but the blazing of a hellish inferno.

Raising a hand up to swipe away the sweat stinging his eyes he didn't even try to get up. Grief shot through his body, replacing the rage, for he knew he would not walk away from this night. _I am going to die…_ He thought numbly as his head lolled weakly to the side._ I have failed… I have wasted everything. John… you were right. _

Through the blistering heat of the approaching flames a comforting rush of cold air slowly wrapped around Andrew's prone form, chilling him down to the bone. The gentle brush of a cool hand smoothed across his forehead as he slowly opened his eyes. Blinking against the soft white light shining into his face Andrew could barely see the outline of a man crouching down before him.

"Who are you?"

The light dimmed slightly revealing the familiar scarred features of his brother. _He looks sad… he should be happy. He won after all… why does he look so sad?_ Andrew wondered absently, oddly noticing that he could no longer feel the pain of the fire approaching his body. In fact, he could hardly feel his body at all.

Unable to meet John's sorrowful eyes any longer Andrew dropped his gaze to the ground, in shame. Distantly he felt tears splash down his cheeks but he couldn't find the strength to wipe them away. His vision began to grow black as John continued to smooth a cool hand across his forehead. _He shouldn't be doing that… not after what I did. He shouldn't be doing that._

"Hush now, brother. It is ended… and you will be judged. I may forgive you for what you have done but you have still to stand before God."

_No… no!_ Andrew's mind screamed in horror of what was to come. _John please! No… I am lacking… I have always been lacking something good inside of me…_

Shaking his head solemnly John turned his face to the side. "I know Andrew… I know… Hush now, Brother… I will be with you…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fighting to find the surface in all the black surrounding her Brielle held onto her daughter with one arm and paddled with the other. Using the ghostly flickering of the fire above as a beacon she kicked upward. Breaking through the water she gasped in a breath of air, quickly insuring that Aria's head was likewise above water. Looking around her she searched for Erik, thinking he must be nearby.

"Erik! Where are you!" she called out over the water, dismayed at how small her voice sounded next to the hissing of the flames brushing against the river. "Where are you!" _He was right behind me… he said he was right behind me…_ she thought, a cold wash of dread settling deep within her stomach. _He was right behind me…_

Fighting to stay afloat in the choppy water, Brielle continued her frantic search until her daughter began to sputter at her side. "M-Momma, I am getting c-cold…" the child stuttered through chattering teeth.

Giving one last look around her, Brielle struck out toward the shore, where she could see a small crowd beginning to form. _That is right… he is probably already onshore…_ Feeling more confident now, she ignored the chill of fear clawing at her heart and swam faster. Reaching the docks, she was surprised to find several men waiting there to help her out of the water. Glad for their assistance, she handed Aria up to them before allowing them to pull her to safety as well.

"Lord above, mam'selle. What in the hell happened out there?" one of the men asked.

Ignoring that question, Brielle grabbed hold of the man's sleeve urgently. "Has a man come to shore… a tall man with dark hair and blue eyes?"

Surprised by her fervor the man shook his head. "No, mam'selle. No one else has come to shore 'cept you."

Staring up at the man in shock, Brielle slowly released him and shot to her feet. Cupping her hands over her mouth, she faced the river. "Erik! Erik! Where are you!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her own voice echoing back to mock her across the water. As the boat began to sink beneath the river's surface her screams became more desperate. "Someone has to go in there! There is a man…he is still in there! ERIK!"

Warm hands took hold of her arm when she moved to leap back into the cold water herself. "Stop that now mam'selle."

Fighting the hands holding her back, Brielle felt hot tears begin to splash down her cheeks. "No… no… he said he would be right behind me… he is still out there."

"You are going to have to come with us now, mam'selle," one of the men said quietly, but without kindness. "George says he found a couple of bodies floating on the other side of the dock and I think the police will need to ask you a few questions about them."

"What?" she asked dazedly. "A couple of bodies? What do they look like…" As another man carefully wrapped Aria up in his coat Brielle was slowly being pulled away from the dock. "What do they look like!" she screamed as the men bodily dragged her off to the police man waiting several yards away.

"ERIK!"


	67. The Coming Day

**Getting close to the end now. Hope you all are ready! Thanks so much for all of the wonderful reviews! (I promise I will get to replying to them!) And of course a huge thanks to Terpsichore! She is the best! Silver Lady7 has made a UG fan art site on deviantart. How cool is that! SO if you want your pics included I suppose give her a shout out! The site is at the following address.**

http //ww w. unseengeniousclub. deviantart. com

**Oh and Silvan did another fantastic pic! (This one of Erik being all Phantomy in the flames from the last chapter!) It is seriously awsome! **

ht tp // ww w. deviantart. com/ view/ 37139539 / (Take out the spaces as usual)

**Oh and I promised I would mention that Mlle. Fox is having a fan art contest. So if you are interested let her know!**

Chapter 67: The Coming Day

Pale fingers of moonlight filtered brightly through the bars of the jailhouse window, casting stark black and white patterns against the grey stone floor. A moth fluttered into the moonbeams, its ghostly wings set aglow by the backlight. Attracted to the distant glow of the moon, the tiny bug flung itself desperately against the distorted glass, beating its wings with such a frantic energy that puffs of powder floated free of its body.

Listening to the _pat patting_ sound of the moth's body ramming insistently against its clear barrier, Brielle turned her face away from the sight of the poor creature's struggle, fixing her eyes vacantly upon the floor instead. Huddled in the corner of the cramped cell, she clamped her arms more tightly around her knees, trying to conserve what heat she could even though she secretly wondered if freezing to death would be a kinder fate than what she now faced.

She had been imprisoned now for over a week, kept isolated from all other prisoners and in uncomfortable conditions in the hope of loosening her tongue. When the police had taken custody of her they had immediately made it clear that she was a suspect in the explosion of the Donovan warehouse and the ultimate death of two men. They had taken her to an interrogation room on one of the upper floors of the jailhouse, grilling her for the rest of the night in order to force a signed confession from her. To their utter annoyance she had kept her mouth firmly shut, admitting nothing, not even her own name. In normal circumstances she would have been happy to cooperate, after all she had committed no crime. But these were not normal circumstances.

Erik was dead, she was sure of that now. Though the detectives had sought to conceal their findings from her, Brielle had been able to glean a few tidbits from their whispered conversations. Only two bodies had been discovered in the Seine, one with a broken neck and one too badly burned to recognize, but no other survivors had been picked up either. It did not take a genius to figure out Erik must either be the burnt body found or lost to the currents of the river.

And now Brielle couldn't quite force herself to care much about her own fate. The grief curling within her belly was almost a living thing in its ferocious consumption of every last shred of her sense of self preservation, of her heart, mind and soul. It fogged her mind and dulled her senses until the world appeared as nothing more than a graveyard, gray, and washed of all color. And though she tried with all her might she couldn't remember how she had functioned without Erik at her side, couldn't remember what it felt like to be so utterly alone.

Shifting upon the rough wooden plank that served as her bunk Brielle rested her chin upon her bent knees, her eyes stark and staring off into nothing. Fatigue began to wrap its falsely soothing fingers about her mind causing her head to nod forward slightly, but she was ready to fight it off this time. Stiffening her body, Brielle reached up and pinched her cheeks in an attempt to wake herself up. Over the last week she had come to dread the setting of the sun, and the need for sleep, to fear it and the nightmares it could bring. She had already dreamt of Erik every time she allowed herself to doze off, dreamt of him in the water, unconscious and drowning, and she had no desire to repeat the experience. The reality of what she had seen firsthand was bad enough without the added details her dreams offered.

_Think of something else. There are plenty of other things to think about… just… just think of something else._ Forcing her thoughts away from the gruesome images of his pale face floating in the dark water, Brielle instead wondered of Aria and Conner's well-being. Despite her best efforts, she hadn't been able to get any of the detectives to tell her how they were, or even where they were. _I know Meg will see to Conner's health…_ She knew because she had dreamed of their wedding day. There was something mockingly ironic about how clear her visions appeared to her now, now that it was too late to do any good. It was almost enough to make her curse God's name, to question the flaws in His plan for her.

_Is this to be what my whole life has been leading up to? Was it always supposed to end like this? If it was meant for him to die saving me then I almost wish I had never met him. Almost. _Shaking her head at the lie in her own thoughts, Brielle reluctantly brought her eyes back up to the moth's continued struggle against the glass. A sharp pang of pity for the creature, and its useless fight for freedom, impelled her to her feet. As if in a dream she drifted towards the window, stepping into the shafts of moonlight, her eyes shifting beyond the moth to the starry sky beyond.

"_Brielle..."_

A voice whispered to her through the darkness of the night. It was Erik's voice, the French in his accent tilting her name in the same way that had once thrilled her, but now only reminded that he was gone. She would never hear her name said exactly the same way again. The reality of this realization weighed so heavily upon her mind that she was sure her body would break apart under the pressure. The rough cotton of her prison uniform chafed her skin as she wrapped both arms about her abdomen, pressing against the almost physical pain collecting there. Closing her eyes against the bittersweet agony burning through her blood, Brielle tried to force the voice out of her head even though she secretly prayed for its return. _It hurts so much to hear him in the air, as if he were standing beside me… but I don't know if I have the strength to let him go yet. I feel as if I will lose my mind if even this small part of him disappears… If I begin to forget what he sounds… sounded like. _

Pushing away the pain, Brielle slowly dropped her arms to her sides and glanced back up at the window. Clenching her jaw against the tears she felt burning in her eyes, she reached up and unlatched the window, nudging the glass as far forward as the bars on the other side would allow. The moth fluttered about confusedly for several seconds but then shot out the small opening she had created and into the night. Rising up onto her tiptoes, Brielle strained until she managed to see out to the moon-washed city street far below, and watching the glow of the moth's small wings fading off into the distance, a small sense of satisfaction, if not happiness, eased through her system.

Sighing, Brielle lowered herself down until the nightscape outside the window was replaced by the cold stone of her cell's walls. "At least one of us can leave this place," she mumbled to herself as she turned and reclaimed her seat in the corner. Feeling the darkness hovering within her mind threatening to overtake her once again, Brielle covered her face in despair. She knew that in time the grief would fade, but at the moment it seemed as if there would never be an end to it.

The unexpected click of a light footfall sounded from down the hallway, bringing Brielle's head up. Frowning, she listened as the sounds drew closer. In the week she had been incarcerated no one had ever been allowed to come down this hallway, except for the detectives, and by the softness of the tread she highly doubted a policeman was approaching. A hooded figure appeared outside her cell, causing Brielle to stare warily at the unusual sight.

Pulling her hood down, Madame Giry stepped close to the bars, her entire demeanor purposely subdued and stealthy. "Brielle, I do not have much time, but I must speak to you."

"What are you doing here? How did you get in?" Brielle wondered aloud.

"I paid off the guards," Madame Giry replied hastily. "There is something you should know…"

Brightening slightly, Brielle's expression lightened somewhat. "Is Conner all right? The last I heard of him was back at the Opera House. And what of Aria? Who is seeing to her while I am locked in here?"

Shaking her head in frustration, Madame Giry waved a dismissive hand, obviously not considering these subjects of the greatest importance. "Conner is doing well in the hospital. The bullet did not hit anything vital. He is recovering from blood loss now. And Aria is staying with me at the moment."

"Good… that is good." A sweet sense of relief washed through her at the good news. Their well-being had been circling about her mind for days, fighting for her attention along with thought of Erik.

"Yes, but that is not what I came here to speak with you about!"

Sitting up a little straighter, Brielle tried to paste an expression of interest upon her face. Though she was dimly glad to see the older woman, nothing Madame Giry had to say to her could possibly pull her out of the well of despair she now lived in. "All right… go ahead and tell me then," she said dispassionately.

Wrapping both hands about the bars that separated them, the dance mistress's face pinched into deep lines of concern. "You are in a great deal of trouble, Brielle. They are charging you with two counts of murder. From interviewing some witnesses the police know that Lord Donovan was on that boat when it caught fire. They are assuming you started the blaze and are dead set on seeing you pay for being the cause of a noble's death."

Feeling strangely numb despite the horrific news, Brielle merely stared at Madame Giry in silence. "Then they mean to jail me for the rest of my life?" Slowly concern for what would happen to her daughter should she become a permanent prisoner ate away at the bitter ice surrounding her heart. "They cannot do that! There is no proof!"

"No… you don't understand! It is much worse than that! This is a hanging case! They mean to hang you!"

Stunned by this revelation, Brielle slumped back against the wall behind her. "Hang me?" she breathed, her mind already racing ahead to imagine what such an outcome would do to her remaining family members. "They cannot do that! What of Aria? I have to see to her!"

"They mean to set an example by you, Brielle. It doesn't matter that they do not have enough proof. You do not have a lawyer to represent your case. We are trying to gather the money in order to hire one, but they are moving extremely fast in this case, and there are very few who wish to go against the high-ranking law officials. Everyone is in everyone else's pocket. Carlotta has been practically tearing this place apart every day, trying to get to see you, but the lead detectives can tell that this sort of case could make a career. They are not letting up."

"Carlotta should not concern herself so…" Brielle began guiltily. "I have kept many secrets from her. She doesn't know that…"

Cutting Brielle off, Madame Giry frowned through the bars at her. "She knows more than you think. So does Meg. Conner ended up telling us exactly what has been going on these last few months. Carlotta did take it hard at first… she has been harboring a terrible hatred for poor Erik for so long now… but her anger cooled a bit when she found out the good he tried to do for you." After a short pause the dance mistress continued. "Meg even sent a telegram to Christine, asking her to use her title in order to help."

"Christine Daae!"

"Yes, she wrote to the mayor, but apparently the concern of a mere vicomtesse is not enough." Falling silent then, Madame Giry carefully studied Brielle's sorry state. "You must put aside your grief for a time, Brielle, if there is going to be any hope of setting you free. You must concern yourself with your own cause for now."

"That is more easily said than done, Madame," Brielle flared, finally able to throw off her gloomy attitude. "I lost the man I loved more than life itself. My brother was seriously injured. My daughter, at the moment, is parentless. And now I must face the gallows! It is too much! I cannot take another blow! And I cannot set aside my grief as if it were a piece of porcelain, placed upon a shelf and forgotten. I cannot do it! Don't you see? All this is my fault! It all links back to me! Had it not been for me, Conner would be fine… and… Erik would still be alive!" Her voice broke upon his name and the temper melted out of her, replaced quickly with agonizing guilt.

Pursing her lips at Brielle through the bars, Madame Giry fixed her with a quelling glare. "Despite what you think, you have helped a great deal of people at the Opera…"

"Oh really?" Brielle snapped bitterly.

"Yes. It is almost strange to think what we were all like before your little family came to us. Meg grew strong with you as her friend. Strong enough to take hold of her dreams. Carlotta grew up. And Erik… Erik learned what love really is. He was willing to risk his life for it. Perhaps that is why all of this happened… you saved his eternal soul, child. The road that brought you to us surely was lit by God's will. Can you not see that?"

"I hardly think all that is because of me."

"Well as you said before… it all links back to you."

Despite her firm resolve to remain unconvinced, Brielle felt a slight warmth soothe the ache in her heart. "You are kind for saying such things. In case I do not see you again… please know that I am grateful for everything everyone has been doing for me."

Narrowing her eyes, Madame Giry shook her head. "That sounds suspiciously like a good-bye to me."

"No… not a good-bye."

"Good, because we are not giving up on you… so I forbid you to give up on yourself," Madame Giry huffed, turning her head toward a slight sound from down the hallway.

Buoyed by the faith of her friends, Brielle managed to smile brokenly up at Madame Giry. "I suppose I do not have a choice then…"

"Good," Madame Giry stated as she raised her hood up over her graying hair. "I think I am close to the limit of my visit now. A bribe can only buy so much time. Try to keep up your spirits."

"Aye, aye," Brielle said with a little bit of her usual sarcasm, her more lively manner drawing a quick smile from Madame Giry as the older woman turned and hurried down the hallway. As soon as the dance mistress was out of sight, Brielle's smile waned, then disappeared. She felt strangely drained by the lighthearted expression, as if it had taken all her energy to wipe the sorrow from her face. Sighing heavily, Brielle leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes turning to the bars of moonlight shimmering upon the floor.

_"Brielle…Brielle…"_ The voice whispered insistently in the silence following Madame Giry's visit.

Making a choked sound in the back of her throat, Brielle climbed shakily to her feet and stumbled across the floor. _God… I feel him within me. Calling to me from beyond the grave… like a Siren's call. _Sinking to her knees underneath the barred window, Brielle clasped her hands before her. Bowing her head, the moonlight glinting in her loose hair, she desperately began to pray for release from the connection she had long felt tying herself to Erik. She simply could not withstand the deathly pull; it would drag her further down the chasm of her grief.

"Please God, release me. If there is something more I must do in this life… please help dull the feeling of him. Please…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Awaking the next morning to the sound of heavy footsteps outside her cell, Brielle sat up with a start, her heart leaping up into her throat. _Madame Giry said they were trying to move the case along, but surely the day has not come already. They haven't even told me I have been charged with anything… they can't hang a person without telling them why…_ Clenching her hands at her sides in fear, Brielle waited stoically for the people marching down the hallways to appear before her cell. In the back of her mind she felt Erik's presence grow stronger, soothing the fear choking her now. Despite what she had prayed for the night before, she was glad to feel him so near to her, as if there were a piece of him resting just beside her beating heart.

Two guards appeared at the door of her cell followed by a stout older man in business attire. The older gentleman took one look at her pale face and dirty clothing before turning to rail furiously at the guards next to him, his entire face turning a dangerous shade of purple. Startled by the outburst, Brielle could only gape as the guards hung their heads at the man's admonition.

Rubbing a hand nervously over his carefully curled mustache, the strange gentleman finally turned back to Brielle, the anger still flashing in his eyes. "Madame," he began, his tone almost overly respectful. "If you would please come with me? I have much to discuss with you." Motioning to one of the guards, the man impatiently waited for the door to be opened.

_Is this truly it? Do they plan to execute me today? Is this gentleman here to formally charge me with the crimes?_ she wondered as a wave of panic pounded through her body. Staying stubbornly where she was, Brielle looked back and forth between the guards and the stranger. "Who are you, Monsieur? What do you mean to do to me?"

His expression softening slightly the older man cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Madame. I am Jacques Leclerc. I am an attorney here in Paris and I have come to discuss some very important matters with you."

Her mouth forming an 'o' of understanding, Brielle rose to her feet, the fear evaporating from her mind as she crossed the floor to him. _Madame Giry and everyone must have worked quickly to have already secured me representation,_ she thought with relief. Maybe her situation was not as hopeless as it had seemed last night. Not quite able to rustle up a smile for this stranger, Brielle did her best to at least appear pleasant.

"I am glad to meet you then, Monsieur Leclerc."

Nodding, the attorney turned and fixed the two guards with a steely glare before stepping between them and out into the hallway. "Follow me please. We will speak in more suitable surroundings."

Hesitating on the threshold of her cell, Brielle glanced up and down the hallway. "Where are we going? Am I allowed to… to leave?"

Blinking back at her, Leclerc nodded. "But of course, Madame Donovan. Have no fear and just come with me."

Moving to follow the man as he asked, Brielle stepped out into the hall, the ragged hem of her prison uniform dragging across the floor. The attorney led her from the cellblock and down a long hallway to a slightly more comfortable area where interrogations were usually held. Opening a nearby door, he went into one of the questioning rooms and sat down at the table within. Following suit Brielle did the same, wondering what this man planned to do to help her out of the mess she was in.

Pulling a small sheaf of papers from his jacket pocket, Leclerc smiled across the table at her. "I must apologize for the conditions you have endured over the last week, but I only just this morning discovered the full extent of your plight. Do you need anything before we begin our discussion? Should I call for more comfortable clothing? Or something to eat perhaps?"

Surprised by the man's kindness, Brielle studied him for several moments in silence. "No, I am fine. Thank you for asking though."

Clearing his throat Leclerc nodded, laying the papers out onto the table between them. "All right then. I am sure you are anxious to begin."

"Yes. Forgive me, but I am wondering what you plan to do in order to help my situation. From what I have been told it is rather grave."

Frowning in confusion, the man tilted his head to the side. "Excuse me?"

"I have heard from a friend that they plan to convict me of crimes I did not commit… of murder." Gulping slightly, she continued. "They plan to hang me to make an example."

Paling at her words, Leclerc raised both hands up to run through his graying hair. "I had hoped you hadn't heard of that outrageous example of stupidity. Do not worry, Madame. Nothing of the sort will happen to you. You are perfectly safe."

Sitting up straighter, Brielle felt hope begin to take root within her heart. "Do you have a plan for the trial, then?"

"No, no, no…" Leclerc said, waving both hands before him. "You misunderstand… the charges have been dropped, Madame Donovan. You will never have to endure anything so demeaning as a trial."

Her brow crinkled in confusion as she tried to understand what he was telling her. "What do you mean?"

"Well, considering who you are, Madame, it would be foolish indeed for any Parisian public official to follow through on such ridiculous charges. That and they would be doubly foolish to try and bring such a weak case before a judge when I am your defense lawyer. I mean really there wasn't enough evidence… for all we know Lord Andrew accidentally set that fire himself and just wasn't able to make it off the boat in time. And of course there is the fact that and the Donovan name owns half this town. His death most certainly is not your fault."

"Considering who I am?" Brielle repeated, her confusion growing by the moment as she latched onto those words.

"Yes," the attorney said slowly, obviously seeing the befuddled expression upon her face. "You are Brielle Donovan the widow of young Lord Jonathan Donovan."

"Yes, but I do not see how that has anything to do with this. I have no influence, Monsieur. And when my husband married me he was disinherited."

Leaning forward, with the intent air of one who was about to reveal a great secret, Leclerc flashed her a charming smile. "But do you not see what that means? You are the mother of the last member of the Donovan bloodline. Arianna Donovan is the sole heir of the Donovan title."

"But…but… but she is a _girl_ child… she cannot inherit the title…" Brielle sputtered.

"Yes, that is normally the case. Usually only the male members can come into a title; however, this is not the usual case." Ruffling through the papers on the table, he pulled out an aged piece of parchment and laid it out before her. "This is a copy of a very old document that details the inheritance of the Donovan title. It is a very ancient text, and follows equally ancient rules. The founders of the family, the very first Lord and Lady Donovans, were more concerned with keeping the bloodline pure than if the title should go to a male heir. Since Arianna is the last of the bloodline she is the automatic default heir."

Staring across the table at the man as if he had grown two heads, Brielle glanced momentarily down at the papers before her, her mind going completely blank. Of all the things she had expected to hear today, this was not it. "Monsieur, I do not know what to say…"

Nodding his head in understanding, Leclerc again shuffled through the papers. "Yes, I suppose this must be very shocking to you. However, I do have one other point to discuss with you."

"What else?" Brielle breathed, hardly able to find her voice over the shock clouding her mind. Underneath the table her hands began to shake within her lap.

Pulling out a newer-looking packet of papers, Leclerc set these on top of the pile. "Yes, and now we must discuss Lord Andrew's last will and testament."

A chill shivered down her spine at the mention of Andrew's name, but Brielle ignored the sensation, keeping her expression impassive. "All right…"

"Lord Andrew worked for most of his life to increase his family's holdings. He was very successful in this endeavor. Now the wealth of the Donovan family extends well beyond what was originally included under the original title…"

Finding the discussion of Andrew's success distasteful Brielle turned her face away, staring at the floor to hide the flash of heat she knew was burning in her eyes. "Why does that have anything to do with me?"

Looking up at her with a smile Leclerc brushed his fingers over his mustache. "Well, Lord Andrew left the entirety of his estate to you, Madame. I suppose he felt guilty that his father disinherited his brother and left you with nothing… so he wished to see to your comfort."

Pursing her lips into a frown, Brielle stopped herself from correcting this man. There weren't enough hours in the day to detail just how wrong he was about Andrew's intentions. No doubt he had included her in his will because he had be certain all along that she would one day be his wife, willing or otherwise. "I do not want Andrew's money…" she ground out through clenched teeth. "What of his mother? Should it not go to her?"

Surprised by her statement Leclerc merely blinked at her. "Madame, Lady Donovan died not two weeks ago… and it isn't a matter of wanting the money or not. He also made sure to reinstate your late husband's position in the family as well. So technically the money is being passed down to you through your husband. The money and all his holdings are yours."

Loosing some of her icy exterior Brielle turned and slapped a hand against the tabletop. "I do not want that man's money! No doubt it is as dark as was his soul!"

His smile dimming slightly, Leclerc cleared his throat. "You are a very wealthy woman now, Madame. Think of all the doors that position will open for you. One of which is being released from jail this very day. It is the influence Andrew built within this city more than their lack of evidence that saw to your freedom. Consider this first before you cast it away. Perhaps you were not on the best of terms with Lord Andrew… but why not use what was left behind for your own purposes?"

Ready to blurt out another rebellious statement, Brielle found her mouth slowly closing. Something about the logic in the attorney's reasoning had reached her through the fury she still harbored for the man who had taken away the love of her life. Sitting up a little straighter in her chair, Brielle forced the frown upon her face to relax.

"You make a good point, Monsieur. But can we please continue this discussion at another time? I haven't seen my family in a week and am very eager to do so," she asked coolly, her mind struggling to comprehend all that had been revealed to her today. She had gone from looking execution in the face to being free and the inheritor of a huge sum of money. Life was so strange sometimes. _I suppose this is my sign… Apparently I am not done yet. _

Gathering up his papers, Leclerc jumped to his feet. "Of course, Madame. I am at your beck and call. I can arrange for a change of clothing to arrive for you and then transportation so that you can be reunited with your family. It should take less than half an hour."

_Is this what being wealthy can get you? Perhaps I can get used to this… there are many ways I could put Andrew's money to good use._ "All right… that sounds fine." Walking to the doorway with Leclerc, Brielle caught sight of the chief inspector hovering nervously out in the hallway.

Upon seeing her, the man pasted a wide, friendly smile upon his face. "Madame Donovan… let me just say that the police force is…"

Raising a hand, Brielle cut the man off. "Tell me, is it your policy to convict people without any form of evidence?"

"Um…. well…"

Though the correct thing to do in this situation would be to allow the matter to drop, to forgive, Brielle found that she simply didn't want to. Perhaps a year ago she would have simply walked away, but now, after taking lessons from the Phantom of the Opera himself, she felt her dander begin to rise.

Narrowing her eyes, Brielle raised her chin. "Do not think I will forget what you were planning on doing to me…" she snapped, her tone foreboding. Turning abruptly, she set off down the hallway, her expression a cool mask for her true feelings. Behind her she could practically feel the police chief shaking in panic, obviously the threat in her words hitting home with him. Somehow standing up to the man who had been tormenting her all week made her feel just a little bit steadier, a little bit closer to Erik. _That is right… I will have to stand up for myself from now on. Until we meet again… _

Hurrying to catch up with her, Leclerc couldn't hide the smile spreading across his face. "I think you will do just fine, Madame. You have spirit… and it is going to be a pleasure to work for you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Six Months Later

Standing alone in her bedroom of her London townhouse, Brielle watched the rain run down the window panes with vacant eyes. The world outside was a wash of fog and gray stone, giving the view from her window all the cheer of a graveyard. In a way she was glad for the closeness of the rain and fog. The weather was a perfect backdrop for her dark mood. Raising a hand, she traced the trail of the rain down the window, thinking of Erik for the hundredth time that day. _What would he have said if he could have seen me now?_ she wondered with a sigh.

A lone figure rushed down the street, the only person daring enough to brave the rain on foot. Save for him the entire street was deserted. Though really, that wasn't a surprise at all. London in the early autumn months was a trial for even the most seasoned veterans. Most of the _ton _elected to remove themselves from the city during the summer and fall months in order to escape the sweltering heat, but Brielle had decided to stay. Having stepped into her new role as Lady Donovan, she had wasted no time in becoming heavily involved in the running of the estate.

Within a month of being released from jail she had donated a heavy portion of her new wealth to a wide variety of charities. Politics soon came into play as well; surprisingly enough many very important men were extremely interested in becoming her friend. At first the power her new coin held astonished her, but she soon became accustomed to the games the rich played against one another. She had become a terror to all the corrupted officials in Paris who had treated her, and countless others, without a shred of human decency. It was petty, perhaps, to take so much joy in seeing those men sweat but Brielle never once considered allowing them to go without punishment.

When she had first stepped into her new role, Brielle had instantly made it her personal project to search for Erik's body in the river. Hiring a couple dozen men to carry out the search she had hoped to at least be able to put a body in the grave she had purchased to lay Erik to rest. However, the search yielded disappointing results. _I should have looked harder. We gave up after only three weeks… perhaps that was too soon._

The door behind her opened with a click, drawing her out of her brooding thoughts. Aria came rushing into the room, her dark hair practically bristling with a wide variety of bows and ribbons. Taking a deep breath, Brielle pulled her gloom deeper inside herself, her expression clearing with a wide smile. For her daughter's sake she would not allow herself to be a grieving shadow the rest of her life.

"What in the world have you done to your hair?" Brielle asked lightly.

Fingering the dozen bows, Aria flashed a coy smile. "I g-got ready so that I c-could go with you tonight!"

Shaking her head, Brielle patted the excited child on the head. "Sorry, love, but tonight is only for grown-ups. But I promise to take you out some other time."

Pouting now Aria looked to the floor. "B-But I want to see Aunt M-Meg dance t-tonight too!"

"Now you know perfectly well that Conner has already taken you to see her perform at the London Opera House. This is by no means the first time she has danced as the prima ballerina. Conner told me that while I was in Paris he took you to see the play she was working in two months ago."

"I know b-but I wanted to g-go tonight. Uncle C-Conner says this is a n-new play! It is r-really important!"

Wondering at the child's unexpected fervor Brielle hesitated. _She has never been so excited about the Opera before, even with Meg in the production. I wonder what has put a bee in her bonnet this time around… _

"Another time…" Brielle soothed, as she smiled down at her daughter. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly the child had recovered from all the terrible things she had seen. The worry that the horrors they had endured would somehow scar the poor child had been one of Brielle's chief concerns. But apparently she need not have worried. Aria was perfectly fine.

Getting over her disappointment quickly Aria danced away from her mother's touch. "All right… c-can I go play the piano n-now then?" she asked gaily, a secretive light blinking brazenly within her gray eyes.

Shaking her head at her daughter's odd behavior Brielle sighed. "Of course you can," she allowed as she ushered Aria out of the bedroom and down the hallway. In the last week Aria had begun practicing her music with a newfound fervor. It was almost like the child were preparing for a concert, considering the focused way she practiced. _Just so long as she isn't tormenting her poor tutors…_

Coming to the stairs leading down to the front door, Brielle caught sight of her brother's bright head down below. Conner stood leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs, his left arm kept carefully at his side. When he heard them start down the staircase, he turned his head to grin rakishly up at them. Apparently married life suited him, for there was something truly brilliant in his every movement since Meg and he had exchanged their vows. His happiness was almost a tangible thing, lighting up every room he strolled into.

"There you are! I was worried you were going to make us late!" he chided, the twinkle in his fairy green eyes diminishing the force of his words.

Raising an eyebrow, Brielle smiled sweetly at him. "Of course not. I am never late!"

Rolling his eyes, the redhead strode quickly to the front door. "No… that is right; I forgot. Arriving an hour after we are supposed to is a woman's duty."

"Absolutely! And I take my duties very seriously," Brielle replied breezily as a footman opened an umbrella out on the stoop, intending to walk her and Conner to the coach waiting outside. "Are you really so impatient to see your dear wife again? The poor girl hardly gets a moment's rest with the likes of you hanging about her every waking second. Soon enough I am sure she will come to her senses and run away."

Raising a hand to his heart in mock pain, Conner casually reached out and relieved the footman of his umbrella. "Oh… the things you say to your poor brother. They are scandalous! No wonder all of the other London snots hightailed it out of here when they heard you were coming back to town."

Ignoring his teasing, Brielle turned back to Aria and placed a kiss on the top of her head. "When I come home later I will tell you all about the play."

Clapping her hands in delight, Aria nodded her head. "Yay! Tell me h-how g-good Meg does!" she squealed.

"That is a deal then." Turning, Brielle moved to the open doorway, lifting the hem of her royal blue skirts above the gathering puddles outside. With Conner holding the umbrella over her head, the pair hurried to the coach and jumped inside. Sitting back against the cool leather of the seats, Brielle let out a small laugh. "Conner, you really must stop telling the poor servants not to do their jobs… it really stirs them up. I think they think you want to fire them all."

Rubbing absently at the stiffness in his left shoulder, the old wound still bothering him on rainy days, Conner wrinkled his nose at her. "Lord, Bri… don't you feel strange with all of them hanging around all of the time? I just don't like other people doing all the work for me."

"Yes, it is rather odd to think that the daughter of an Irish doctor has come so far. We are a long way from playing in the fields of county Cork," Brielle sighed a little whimsically. "But really you must at least tell them that you don't mean to get them fired. They have yet to get used to our strangeness."

Leaning back with his legs stretched lazily out before him, Conner stuck out his tongue. "Blah! Who would have thought the servants would be so stuffy?"

"They will come around. They are good people."

Studying his sister carefully, Conner's good cheer dimmed slightly. "Why is it that when you smile I still get the feeling that you would rather cry?"

Sobering quickly, Brielle shrugged her shoulders. "It is the rain… it makes me remember."

Nodding in understanding Conner sat forward and took her hand in his. "Well… I am glad you decided to come with me tonight, Bri. It is good for you to get out and have some fun. And it is good for me to spend some of your money."

Swatting away his hands, Brielle felt some of her gloom lift; Conner always knew exactly how to make her smile. "What is this play about anyway?"

"Actually I have no idea. I am only going because Meg is in it. I do know it is all the buzz around town though, new composure and all that rubbish. Though Meg joining the cast was all very last minute. We were off touring about Rome when we got the news of it. Evidently they were very insistent of her being in it… I guess the casting manager had seen some of her other work or something."

"I am glad the two of you are so happy."

"Thanks, Bri…" Looking at the floor in thought for a moment, Conner raised a hand to ruffle through his hair. "I never did thank you… If it weren't for you and Erik I would never have met her."

Smiling a little sadly, Brielle looked out the window, watching as the London Opera House loomed into her field of vision. Glad to not have to delve further into their current conversation, she sat up a little straighter. "Well, we are here!"

Waiting for the coach to come to a complete stop, Conner jumped out ahead of her, opening the umbrella once more to keep her satin gown dry. "After the play I think I should take you out for a couple dozen pints of ale."

"Oh, yes, that would go over wonderfully in the gossip papers. But it would be awfully fun!" Hurrying up the steps together they managed to avoid getting wet. An usher met them at the front door to lead them to their box. Noticing that no one else stood in the foyer, Brielle made a point of hurrying Conner along. Despite her first reservations she now found herself actually looking forward to her night out, and she was anxious to get seated before the overture.

Smiling at Conner's antics all the way up the stairs, Brielle thanked the usher and entered their box. Quickly taking her seat, she looked down upon the people seated below with unveiled interest. It always amused her to see the fluff and silliness of the rest of the London crowd. Flopping down in the chair next to her, Conner pulled out a pair of opera glasses and set about people-watching as well.

Handing the glasses to his sister, Conner openly pointed at an old dowager sitting across the theater. "Do you think that is a dog she is holding or a rat," he asked with a laugh as Brielle looked through the glasses.

"A rat definitely…"

Slapping his knee in mirth, Conner opened his mouth to say something else when the theater lights began to dim. Quieting, the redhead sat back in his chair, settling for merely giving Brielle a wink. Likewise turning her attention to the stage, Brielle folded her hands in her lap, a flutter of anticipation quickening her blood. Prepared to lose herself in the upcoming story, Brielle was startled when she became distinctly aware of a strange heated sensation washing over her skin. Raising a hand to fan at her now flushed face, she felt her heart skip a beat within her chest. Wondering at this unexplainable reaction, she purposely turned her attention to the people signing on stage. _Lord a-mighty… it feels like I am a nervous schoolgirl. I think I am even blushing… and for no reason too!_

Shaking her head at her own silliness, she concentrated on the play, not wanting to miss any of the storyline. It didn't take long for her to forget her own odd feelings and become engrossed in the action upon the stage. The music was a daring, almost sensual, ensnaring the mind and wooing the senses until Brielle felt herself leaning instinctually forward. Raising a hand to press against her quickly beating heart, she was aware of the music wrapping about the dark shards of her broken heart, easing the almost constant sting to a dull murmur.

Stunned by how deeply the notes moved her, Brielle smiled softly._ Perhaps I have kept away from music for too long… for my first opera since Paris to cause such a reaction… but these melodies almost remind me of what Erik used to write._ In fact, the entire play was beginning to remind her more and more of Erik. Set unusually in Ireland, the basic storyline revolved around a young woman who became lost in a dark forest. When the woman stumbled upon the prone form of an injured man Brielle felt herself stiffen in her chair. Reaching out she clasped a hand over the railing in front of her. _I am imagining the connection… no one knows our story except outside of the family… and Erik… Erik is dead. This is impossible!_

She felt Conner turn his head to the side to look over at her, but Brielle couldn't tear her eyes away from the stage. Minutes ticked by and the heroine helped the mysterious man only to discover that he harbored a dark secret: whenever the sun went down he turned into a terrifying monster. Through a series of misadventures and moments of enlightenment the man and the young woman fell in love, slowly overcoming the black magic holding him a prisoner within his own body.

Watching with a white-knuckled intensity Brielle felt her heart practically stop within her chest. _This story… who wrote this story?_ Like a person in a trance she slowly rose to her feet, the opera glasses in her lap falling to the floor with a thud. Distantly she felt Conner's hand upon her arm but she ignored the concerned pressure. The warm sensation she had felt earlier in the evening grew, warming all the cold, dark places in her soul. _This story… they said it was done by a new composer. _

Tearing her eyes away from the stage with a half strangled cry, she turned and bolted out of the box. Not knowing where she was going or even what she was running toward, Brielle raced down the stairs to the ground floor. A powerful tide of tense anticipation, like a string being pulled ever tighter deep within her, forced her onward; making her dare to hope for something impossible, something miraculous. Hearing Conner clamoring down the stairs after her, Brielle picked up her skirts and dashed down a side hallway. Following the feelings roaring through her body, she pushed her way into the backstage area, feeling the expectation grow with every step. She was getting close.

Feverishly searching every face in the immediate surroundings, she wove her way around the cast members with a practiced ease. "Brielle, what in the world are you doing!" Conner called from behind her.

Ignoring her brother with an intense single mindedness, Brielle edged around a large set piece, stumbling out into a more open area. Breathing a little raggedly from her mad dash, she immediately raised her eyes to the small group of people standing about twenty feet in front of her. A tall, dark haired man with powerful sloping shoulders stood staring down at a sheaf of music scores in his hands. Absently following along with the music, the man seemed far more interested in stealing glances out at the audience whenever there was a set change.

Stopping in mid-step; Brielle felt all the blood rush out of her face. She knew those shoulders; she knew that dark head and slowly she felt life return to the shattered remains of her heart. "Erik?" she breathed, her shocked voice barely making it above a whisper. She knew she should call louder, but in a cruel twist of luck the emotion clogging her throat made it impossible to do so.

Jolting into stillness the man straightened his shoulders, tilting his head to the side as if listening for something though Brielle was certain her voice had not carried to his ears. Turning with a jerk the man whirled about, his windswept blue eyes immediately colliding with Brielle's across the room. The papers Erik was holding in his hands slipped free of his grip and scattered at his feet. Time seemed to come to a screeching halt as they stared at each other, both breathing unevenly from the force of their raw emotions, then came clashing back into motion. He took a hasty step toward her and then broke out into a run. Tripping over the hem of her skirts Brielle started forward, desperate to be nearer, fearful that the man she saw before her was a spirit and nothing more.

Without slowing they fell into each other, their arms coming up to embrace the other with an almost bone-crushing force. The small crowd of onlookers was left to stare as Brielle clung with an almost panicked fervor to Erik's strong body. A fine tremor began deep in her soul as she ran her hands over his back, assuring herself that he was real. The warmth of his breath rushing over the back of her neck set her blood on fire as the tremor within her turned into a violent shaking. Her traitorous legs turned to water beneath her and she slumped limply against him.

"I thought you were dead! Everyone thought you were dead… where were you!" she mumbled against his chest, feeling dangerously faint as his hands came up to weave into her hair.

He was silent for what seemed like an eternity, burrowing his face into hallow of her neck she could feel him struggling to gain enough composure to speak. "I lost consciousness from blood loss and washed up on the shore several miles downstream," he managed to force out, his voice sounding unusually gruff. "I thought I would die without my mask and injured as I was but a passing elderly couple spotted me and took me in on their farm in the countryside. It was a long time before I was strong enough to leave them but every night I thought of nothing but you; saying your name over and over in my mind, hoping that you and Aria were alright."

Feeling a jolt of shock spear through the chaotic whirlwind inside her head Brielle opened her eyes, staring blurrily at the close up view of his jacket. "I heard you… at night I heard your voice in the wind," she murmured in awe, wondering at the otherworldly happenings. _I thought I was going mad… but it truly was him. And what I saw… I must have dreamt of him before he was found… he wasn't drowning… I was wrong._

Tears of anger, of joy, and relief burned her eyes as she pulled herself even tighter against him. "But why didn't you find me?"

"You had left Paris and I did not know where to look for you. I traveled all over the continent but there was no sign of you," he said hurriedly, hints of the desperation he must have felt leaking into his tone.

"I then tried to track down Conner but the blasted man apparently visited every blasted country in Europe on his honeymoon and I always seemed to be two steps behind him. I even heard a rumor in Paris that the woman caught at the scene of lord Donovan's death was thought to be hanged. I didn't know what else to do… and without funds it was nearly impossible to continue my search. I wrote this play to prove that I could move in the world of normal men…and to find you. I knew I would find you… if you just heard the music."

"What about Meg… she is in this production didn't you think to ask her about me?"

Pulling back slightly, a sheepish expression pulling at the corners of his mouth, Erik shook his head. "Strangely enough I didn't know she was in the cast until tonight. I have been standing here cooling my heels just waiting for her to come out of the ladies' dressing rooms so that I could accost her and ask her of you. She is the first solid clue I have found as to your where-a-bouts."

There was a slight pause as Erik's muscles stiffened around her. "My God… you must have been in London for some time now…"

"Well yes but…"

A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat, the sound sending delicious vibrations to her through their close contact. "I have heard many rumors about a Lady Donovan but I simply thought it was the older Lady Donovan… your mother-in-law. Damn I am such an idiot! I was so busy trying to find you that I overlooked the obvious!" Raising a hand to run over the new flesh colored mask he now wore he let out a frustrated huff.

Seeing the agonized tension deepening the lines about his eyes Brielle knew exactly the torture he must have felt during his long search, but something about the irony in the entire situation nearly brought her to laughter. "Gah! I should be furious at all the time that was wasted… but I can't be… I am too happy." Feeling a warm wash of tears splash down her face she took a deep breath, breathing in the familiar scent of him in a desperate need to immerse herself in his very essence.

Raising a finger to wipe away the tears falling down her cheeks, Erik leaned his head forward and pressed his forehead against hers, forgetting his irritation and frustration for a time. "Good… because I have something I need to tell you. Something I should have said a long time ago but was too stupid to blurt it out. But now that I have found you again… and now that I know I can take care of you and that I can leave the Phantom behind me…there is no reason not to say it. I love you… marry me Brielle."

Smiling through her tears, Brielle tilted her head to the side and brushed her lips against his, knowing that those simple words were the sweetest she would ever hear in her entire life. "Yes… I will marry you," she whispered without a moment's hesitation, feeling the last shadows of grief within her heart brighten and disappear.

Cupping her cheek with one hand, Erik grinned against her mouth. "I am glad you said that… I didn't want to have to revert to my old ways and kidnap you," he teased.

Smacking him lightly, Brielle tilted her head back and laughed, the joy of the sound for the first time in six months reaching all the way down to her heart. "Silly man! Don't you know you can kidnap me any day!" Laughing along with her, Erik looked up and waved at where Conner stood a few paces away, a stunned expression marring his freckled face. "There is one thing I have to ask you though…" Brielle murmured, a wicked light burning bright in her eyes.

"And what is that?"

"Are you ready to live happily ever after?"

His smile dimming to more intense expression, Erik traced the outline of her lips with the pad of his thumb, sending thrills of pleasure shooting straight down her spine. "Happily ever after with you? But of course."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Not the end just yet. So keep tuned in!**


	68. Happily Ever After

**Hey there! This is the last official chapter of the story! Gosh it is so sad! But I do hope you enjoy it! Thanks Terpsichore you are great!**

Chapter 68: Happily Ever After

Ten Years Later

Standing with his hands folded sternly behind his back and his feet braced apart, Erik surveyed the classroom before him. As a man who was now in his mid-forties, Erik looked at least five years younger than he truly was. Except for the slight sprinkling of gray in his dark hair his face remained unmarked by the worry lines others seemed to collect. Rather, the handsome crinkles about his eyes and mouth hinted at many years of good humor and laughter, giving him the air of a man wonderfully content with his life.

The late afternoon sunlight washed in through the open curtains, falling upon the small group of students seated on the floor. A soft murmuring could be heard issuing from one side of the room, indicating that Erik was not keeping all of the class in line. Though one side of the room sat in perfect attention, the other side practically vibrated with pent up boredom. Pursing his lips into a stern line, Erik glowered at the two pupils in the back who were obviously not paying attention. Picking up a pencil from the top of the baby grand piano, he tapped it against the music stand with a loud bang.

"Everyone, I must insist on silence. Music is the backbone for all modern societies and must be taken very seriously. I cannot possibly teach you anything if everyone is… not… paying… attention!" he admonished, punctuating the last words sharply.

The murmuring in the back of the room stopped abruptly but then morphed into peals of giggling. The laughter spread until half of the students were not in the least interested in carrying on the lesson. Throwing his pencil in the air in defeat, Erik stalked over to the piano and slumped down onto the bench. "I am a failure! I cannot work under these conditions. It is outrageous!"

A pretty young girl in her early teens rose from her chair, and with a grin strolled up to Erik. "Da, you really shouldn't get so worked up about it. You know that they get a little wild late in the day like this."

"Aria, that is no excuse. I am trying to impart the very gift of God to them. I cannot believe I was talked into this! I should be finishing up the last act of my opera! I am going to kill Conner when I see him next! I am not a bloody tutor!!"

Shaking her dark head, her gray eyes bright with laughter, Aria tried her best to muffle her smile. Over the years she had grown used to her father's moody nature and, like her mother, had long ago grown used to it. "Now, now… remember how hard it was for you to teach me how to speak properly? Surely if you can teach a four-year-old that, you can teach anything."

Softening quickly at her words, Erik flashed his adopted daughter a gentle smile. "I suppose you are right," he murmured softly, his eyes going dark with fond memories. "Of course, you were a special child, unlike this rowdy group of hooligans."

Hearing this through their laughter and horseplay, the five redheaded and blonde children upon the floor stilled, their freckled faces pulling into almost identical expressions of outrage. The oldest of the five, a nine-year-old girl with flashing green eyes and golden hair, jumped to her feet and shook a fist at Erik and Aria. "No fair, Uncle Erik! Just because you think the history of the opera is interesting doesn't mean we do! I want to practice the cello! This is boring!" she stated dramatically, her younger brothers and sisters all nodding their heads in agreement.

The two redheaded twin boys on the floor also jumped to their feet, their tawny eyes filled with mischievous intentions. "No! I want to practice the piano!! The piano!!" they both shouted in unison. Staring up at their older siblings, the two youngest freckle-faced terrors remained seated. At the tender ages of four and two they didn't have the focused gumption that their brothers and sister did, and instead of fighting their teacher they began wrestling with each other.

Grimacing at all the noise now being directed at him, Erik looked to Aria with a tortured expression. "You see what I mean? Why don't you teach them something, Aria? They listen to you," he pleaded.

"They only listen because they know that I can whip them all without even trying. You are too soft on them, Da." Turning toward the chaos, Aria raised her hands, forming claws with her fingers, and put on a terrifying scowl. "Everyone be quiet or I will make you listen to more about how tenors used to be eunuchs!" she threatened. Gasping aloud, the Sinclair children backed down from their older cousin's threat.

Sitting quietly on the other side of the room, a trio of dark-haired children turned darkly malevolent expressions toward the redheads. "Yes, please do be quiet. Some of us are trying to learn something here. Just because you cannot behave doesn't mean we must endure waiting upon you," a ten-year-old boy with flashing blue eyes snapped moodily.

"Don't be taking that tone with us! You aren't the boss! Just because you already play three instruments doesn't mean you can mouth off whenever you want! Da says we have to put up with that sort of thing from Uncle Erik but he didn't say anything about taking it from you too, Danny!" the oldest Sinclair stated, her blonde curls bouncing with the force of her words.

"Stop calling me Danny!! It is Daniel! Daniel!! You know that Katie!!" the boy shouted, his dark brows pulling down into a fierce scowl, looking very much like a certain broody Frenchman.

"Yeah, Katie!" Another of the dark-headed children piped up. Getting to her feet, a blue-eyed girl of about seven came to stand next to Daniel. "And he doesn't know how to play three instruments, he knows how to play five! Just like Brigitte and me. And we already know everything Da is teaching _you._ And we all thought it was very interesting."

Wrinkling her nose at her cousins, Katie flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder. "Well you are all boring, Annabelle! You could study all day, but _normal_ people like to do something fun!"

"Yeah!!" The redheaded twins shouted in unison.

Drawing up lines of battle, the oldest Sinclair children faced off against their cousins. Quickly sensing the situation was getting out of control, Erik got hastily to his feet. "Lord a-mighty!!" he shouted, using one of Brielle's favorite exclamations. "Everyone settle down!!"

Watching all of the action from her perch on a nearby couch, a tiny delicate-looking three-year-old stuck her thumb into her mouth. Shimmying off the couch and onto the floor, the little girl scampered over to where Erik was trying to reclaim some sense of order. Pulling upon his coattails, the child stared up at her father imploringly, her large gray eyes giving her a knowing air that far exceeded her years.

"Da?" Brigitte mumbled about her thumb.

Looking down at his youngest, the frown on Erik's face instantly melted. "Yes, love?" he responded, automatically softening his tone.

"Tell Collin and Ethan that if they let Katie start a fight that Daniel will give them both a black eye," she murmured softly, always the quietest of the three and first to try and make peace.

Glad for that little gem of information, Erik looked to Katie and the twins. "Ha! You heard her. Do you two want a black eye? Meg would murder you all!"

Stilling at Brigitte's soft prediction, the oldest Sinclair children reluctantly sat back down. They knew better than to ignore any warning their cousins might say, for usually the things Daniel, Annabelle, and Brigitte said came true. Relieved that things were finally returning to some semblance of normalcy, Erik bent and swung Brigitte up onto his hip with a practiced ease.

"All right… we can forget about history for now and move onto another subject," he allowed, not wanting to spark another rowdy debate.

Turning to go and sit upon the piano bench once more, Erik shifted his youngest child to his lap. Opening his mouth to begin another lesson, he was interrupted by a soft round of applause coming from the doorway. Turning his attention toward the sound, Erik jolted when he saw Brielle standing upon the room's threshold, the mere sight of her still enough to take his breath away.

"I am so proud of you. You were able to stave off a fight for an entire half an hour," she teased, a small tendril of her beautiful white hair falling across her forehead.

Grimacing sheepishly, Erik shot all the children in the room a quelling glare. "Fight? What fight?"

Laughing at his weak attempt to cover up his loss of control, Brielle stepped further into the room, her hands resting protectively over the round bulge of her pregnant belly. "Oh, come on! I think everyone in the house heard all the screeching."

Caught in his lie, Erik got to his feet, setting Brigitte on the floor before striding over to greet his wife. Kissing Brielle chastely on the forehead he laid a hand over the life growing in her belly. The child within kicked as if on cue, causing a goofy grin to spread across his face. His insides always turned to a melting pot of sentimental goo when it came to being a father. If he could have convinced Brielle he could see himself having ten children. Of course, she hadn't seemed as enthusiastic about such a wish.

"Bri, please… please… please… ask your brother to get someone else to play schoolmaster. I am outnumbered here and I think there are signs of a rebellion brewing."

Raising her hands up to his face, Brielle pouted her pretty lips in the exact same way she did whenever she was soothing one of their children. "Aw, my poor husband. I should have come to your rescue sooner."

"Ewww!!" Several young voices piped up from the floor; the children collectively disgusted by the grownups' open signs of affection.

Purposely leaning forward and planting a kiss upon Brielle's lips, Erik smiled at the horrified reaction that rippled amongst the children. "That is all right. You save me every day just by agreeing to be my wife."

Blushing prettily at his words, Brielle ducked her head. "Ah, the things you say, Monsieur. You could charm the petals off of a rose."

Unable to control the torrents of absolute bliss rushing through his blood, Erik studied his wife's face, loving the way her eyes turned dark as wet slate when she was embarrassed. Momentarily wondering what he had done to deserve such a life, he could do nothing but beam down at Brielle. All his life he had cursed God and his sick sense of humor, but now he saw that there had been a plan for him all along. He was meant to meet Brielle, meant to love her and be the father of her children. What else could he do but bless the broken road that had led him to his ultimate happiness?

"Well I am just doing my job…" he murmured to her finally.

Pulling away slightly, she raised one snowy eyebrow at him. "Oh, and what is that exactly?"

Allowing a slight knowing smirk to tug at the corners of his mouth, Erik paused dramatically. "Living happily ever after, of course."


	69. Epilogue

**Announcement! **

**If you liked this story I would just like to let you all know that I am planning several other stories as well. So this one will not be my last. Though a couple of them will be in other categories and not about the Phantom of the Opera. (Hope you are still interested!) **

**Thank you for all your support with Unseen Genius. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. **

Epilogue

1917: Paris

It had been three years since war broke out, engulfing Europe in its entirety in a sea of blood and despair. In all of history no other conflict could match the spread of violence that even now plagued the continent. The superpowers of Europe joined together in two separate and terrible factions, both pitted mercilessly against the other. France, thought by the Germans to be on the brink of attacking, had been invaded without warning, laying the country to waste. Paris, once the city of light and love, had been silenced, becoming a grim and hollow shadow of what it once was. This was the largest war the world had ever seen, a world war, a war to end all others, and apparently there was no escaping its effects.

The Paris Opera House had closed its doors soon after the German army had marched upon the country. So far the city itself was safe from being caught up in direct fighting, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the battles came closer, and they were prepared. Paris operated as a city under siege, allowing no superfluous expenditures and focusing all its energy on the war effort. Holding an opera at such a time, when obtaining basic things like sugar and butter was nearly impossible, simply seemed wrong. And so the grand theater that Garnier had envisioned decades earlier fell silent.

No one had stepped foot inside the building for over two years now, but an exception was being made and the doors were thrown open to welcome a small crowd of people. In an effort to raise some much needed funds for the city, the managers of the opera had decided to hold an auction of the theater's memorabilia. Desperate for any form of entertainment, a steady, if small, trickle of people had streamed into the vacant building throughout the day.

As the auction sped along in the decrepit remains of what had once been the auditorium, a richly dressed gentleman in a wheelchair entered through a side door, his nurse's distinctive headdress fluttering slightly in the drafty hall. For a moment the action upon the stage stilled and all eyes turned to the newcomer with interest. Everyone recognized the aged Vicomte de Chagny, who was still a handsome man despite the wear of many years upon his face, for it was he alone out of all of Paris's grand society who had chosen to stay in the city despite the looming danger. It was rumored that the reason behind poor man's lingering presence was because he couldn't think of leaving the site of his dear late wife's grave. Theirs had been a grand love story that many still recounted to this very day.

"Welcome, Vicomte," the auctioneer stated enthusiastically, obviously glad to have attracted such a rich patron to the sale.

Nodding in acknowledgement, Raoul motioned to his nurse to place his chair near the stage. Sitting hunched as he was against the chair's back, the man was the image of tired sorrow. His light colored eyes moved about the darkened room with the blank expression of one remembering another time. No doubt he was seeing the velvet upon the dusty theater chairs as a brilliant scarlet and not the torn and dirty burgundy they were now, seeing the balconies free of cobwebs and pigeon nests and the chandelier hanging proudly over the room. With a sigh the old man turned his eyes to the stage and the auction continued on where it had left off.

Within a few minutes, a small bidding war between the vicomte and the former dance mistress Madame Giry, who was now well into her eighties, erupted over an oddly constructed music box. Delighted by the revenue the battle of wills was creating, the auctioneer smiled ear to ear through his jabbering. In the end Raoul's funds trumped Madame Giry's, and the old man was awarded the monkey-shaped music box. With a grim sort of satisfaction, the vicomte was wheeled out of the room, holding the box tightly against his chest. At the old man's departure the auction droned on.

Watching all of this unfold from the very back of the theater stood a small group of people. Oldest amongst them was striking middle-aged woman with generous dark hair and odd light colored eyes. She stood close to a quietly handsome man with sandy colored hair. Slightly behind them four others stood in the shadows, all blending into the dimness as if they had been born to do so. After several more moments of silence, the sandy haired man, the only one of the small group with such light coloring, turned to the woman at his side with a quizzical expression.

"Did you not say earlier that you were looking forward to seeing that music box again? Shouldn't we have bid upon it?" he asked quietly.

Tilting her head to lean affectionately against her husband's arm, Aria smiled. "Don't worry, Edward… I don't mind. I thought to buy it earlier. I have always wondered what happened to it. We never were able to find it after we had left this place. But I see now that perhaps I do not need it as much as some others."

Stepping forward then, a man with devastatingly good looks and flashing blue eyes crossed his arms over his chest, a scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth. "To hell with that old man. If you wanted it you should have gotten it. Really it belongs to us anyway, since it was Da who made the blasted thing."

"Come, come, Daniel. If Aria says that it should pass to the vicomte, then surely it should," a sweetly pretty woman with large expressive gray eyes said serenely. Laying her hand upon her brother's shoulder, Brigitte soothed his quick draw irritation with a gentle smile.

"Besides," Aria cut in as if her brother hadn't spoken up at all. "I wanted to come here for a different reason."

Stilling at her words, her four siblings, who looked so much like their father, all gave her their full attention. "Is it because this is where Da used to…er… live for so long. I should think it is rather sad to see it like this though…" Annabelle murmured, her eyes traveling upward to the dusty ceiling.

Following her sister's gaze the youngest of the group, a lovely woman with curly brown hair and fiercely intelligent blue eyes, finally spoke up. "Yes… this place does seem in a rather sad state of affairs. I do wish I could have seen it back when you lived here Aria. I love the story you tell about the room over the chandelier."

"I know you are dying to see that room, Abby. It really is an architectural marvel."

Clasping her hands excitedly before her Abigail got a dreamy look to her eyes that only the subject of a building project could put there. "Ah, perhaps sometime I can see it."

Pausing for a moment she shot Aria a concerned gaze. "Are you sad though? To be back after so much time?"

Shaking her head Aria smiled. "No, not really. I wanted to come to see just how much work it would take to restore this place."

"Why?"

"Because I think we should become the next patrons of the Opera Populaire. When the war ends… this city will need this place. I will not allow it to fall into ruin."

There was a pause, then identical calculating smiles lit all four faces behind her. "That plan does have a certain symmetry that I like," Daniel stated while he rubbed his chin in consideration, for a moment looking like the spitting image of another man who had stalked the Opera's halls many years ago. "It seems fitting that it should be us to restore the place. It draws the circle to a close, you might say."

Blinking between the siblings as if they were speaking another language, Edward shook his head. "What in the world are you talking about? What circle? And what does this have to do with Grandda Erik? Did he write an Opera for this place once? We should have brought him along if he has a connection here."

"No, he didn't want to come today. He and Mamma both have something else they have to do."

"What could they possibly be doing off on their own? And at their age?"

"They have a grave they wanted to visit," Daniel supplied after sharing a weighted glance with his four sisters. "Da wanted to return something to an…um… old friend. Something she left behind a long time ago."

Raising a hand to scratch his sandy head Edward gave a good natured, if confused, smile. "All right then…"

Smiling up at him, Aria took pity on his confusion. She and none of her siblings had ever shared the adventures of their father before, keeping the secret of the Phantom of the Opera closed off from even their husbands and wives. It had brought them all closer over the years, keeping the tale to themselves, but perhaps now was the time to share what had happened so many years ago. Perhaps now was the time to tell the story of how one simple dream and a fated meeting changed all their lives for the better.

"I will tell you later, all right?" There was a short pause. "It is a rather long story."

The End

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Hey all! I would just like to say that I have had the time of my life bringing this story to you. It really has been a fun journey and I am glad you guys stuck with me to the very end. One last thanks to all of you who ever reviewed for me! You guys really kept the inspiration flowing! A huge thanks to all of the talented people who ever did fan art for me! (Every single one of you is amazing!) And of course a huge thanks must go out to Terpsichore! She made my job easy because of her wonderful editing skills. So thanks again to you all!**


End file.
